waiting for / explosion

it must be coming soon.
there's been announcements everywhere, on screens,
and you can read it in people's tight faces,
jerky movements,
   too sharp,
       hands tense,
           eyes checking.
all these people are making you nervous.

you should've stayed at home, inside.
but who knows if that would've been better -
the air thick like honey,
eyes to the window,
ears so compressed by the silence
that you'd have tried to push music inside to cover it up,
but none of it would fit.
and what if you'd get trapped in there?
what if it would hit your building?
no, being inside would be no good.

but being out here isn't so easy either.
anxious bodies, everywhere, moving too quickly.
eyes meet and then flick away.
where are they all going?
your body, charged, but not sure where to move -
over here, follow them, err, no, sit down, stand up, go,
listen:
the explosions are coming.

the explosions are coming.
you don't know what kind, what to expect.
you don't know when, but it must be today.
you don't know where, but not far away.
you don't know how many, but it could be a few.
your body, charged,
ready to flinch, wince, crunch, crouch, crash, shield,
don't
    look
        away.
it could happen
                   any
                     moment.
you know,
     you have to say it at some point.

you know you have to say it,
at some point.
it's been building for weeks,
at first a murky paste stuck to the bottom of your feet,
and then slowly spreading like jelly,
up through your legs, your belly, your chest, your head,
until gradually everything was shaking,
uncertain if would stay together, in one piece.

you know you have to say it,
the truth that crept up through your shoes,
and shook
          right
              through.
you know you have to say it,
and you know what will happen when you do.
you know, the explosions are coming.