They Never Found the Source of the Blast Emanating from the Police Station

In bars over Zubrovka shots, old men
spoke of a second coming, an Armageddon,
a holy meeting in their town.

             It was Wednesday after all,
             so they’d better have another,
             as they’d done every day,

             if the world was going to end –

what else was there to do - they had seen,
or someone had, that great whoosh and roar of light
shooting from a third-floor window.

             No one ever spoke of the chief of police,
             or his rocket launcher, much easier
             to speak of Gods and ends
             than ever consider the foolishness of men.