The Terrorist, He’s Watching By Wislawa Szymborska The bomb in the bar will explode at thirteen twenty. Now it’s just thirteen sixteen. There’s still time for some to go in, and some to come out. The terrorist has already crossed the street. The distance keeps him out of danger, and what a view—just like the movies: A woman in a yellow jacket, she’s going in. A man in dark glasses, he’s coming out. Teenagers in jeans, they’re talking. Thirteen seventeen and four seconds. The short one, he’s lucky, he’s getting on a scooter, but the tall one, he’s going in. Thirteen seventeen and forty seconds. That girl, she’s walking along with a green ribbon in her hair. But then a bus suddenly pulls in front of her. Thirteen eighteen. The girl’s gone. Was she that dumb, did she go in or not, we’ll see when they carry them out. Thirteen nineteen. Somehow no one’s going in. Another guy, fat, bald, is leaving, though. Wait a second, looks like he’s looking for something in hi...
