Infidel Epiphany
To be as careless as a Yank, careful
As French enigmas in their clipped hedge lines,
As focused as Italian nuns, prayerful
In sinless sins, as strict as Prussian spines
In taut formation—all these were beyond
Him. Adjectives were only sketchy frames
Around his fatal essence. Elders conned
Him using all their holy words and names
For what he was—pathetic, heroic,
Arabian in royal nose and eyes,
An Islamist, a terrorist, stoic.
Whatever. They were all just baptized lies.
..Pure, seventy virgins for him to stick it in . . .
….His teenage finger pulled the holy pin.