Et Tu, Brute?

I was awakened before dawn
To discover I had no address
For sending the terrorists
My home-made bomb.
And what are you doing
With a home-made bomb?
My Conscious-state wanted to know.

It’s a misnomer! I was
Barely able to say
Struck with a terror
Only home-made terrorists
Can feel when a shoe box
Looks ominous and their bomb
Threats reveal
There’s no cloud nine
To escape their ordeal.

Under their covers,
In early morning hours
They are terrorists too.


If you've any comments on this poem, L. Fullington would be pleased to hear from you.