A woman in a burqa boards the northbound
tube train on the Circle line. Two weeks back,
the Underground was twisted metal, fire,
it was torn-up people, it was blood:
Taliban. Al-Qaeda. Suicides
to butcher souls, and London stopping dead.
The woman in a burqa holds a bag.
We've all seen pictures of these black-clad girls,
faces hidden, pulling heavy guns
from sports bags; what are we to think?
there's anger in the carriage; it is packed
with flesh-and-blood humanity, and she,
the woman in the burqa, stands alone,
steadying herself against a pole.
Her bag sways heavily. She smiles.
A panicked man, more booze than sense, erupts:
“Terrorist! ”Our eyes are drawn to them;
the carriage holds its breath. He plunges on.
“Murdering whore, we're not afraid of you! ”
She drops her bag.
He shoves her. As all hell
breaks loose, the train pulls into Euston station.
People surge. They grab the man, and fling
him through the door. The woman gets a seat.
Tan Morgan
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/jihad-2/
