Another Wrong Fedora

The Industrial Promotion Hall

Struck once and permanently, she lingers.


Grass grows where the foundation held walls and roof.


The dome, a shattered skull, sits open to the sky.




Small boats have returned.


For a few yen, you may rent one and row


Up the Ota River, under and past Aioi Bridge.


From behind the fence, the building doesn't notice.




Confounded by the one blow,


She murmurs to herself.


Bones and all that's precious


Crushed, poisoned, or gone.




All in an instant. All forever.




Imagine not quite hearing,


That August Wednesday morning,


The drone of the Enola Gay.