It’s burst,
that Red Balloon floating
over the spindly-legged delicate
black lace Eiffel.
It splattered balloony-guts
in violent gouts
so grotesque
it’s nearly absurd,
and their
rubbery red-joke streaks
on the side
of that squatty arc
are anything but
Triomphe.
That’s how it works, terrorism…
that shock,
that
out-of-the-blue-blow-up
and your life
is doomed to never
the same
and yet never
recover
rinse-repeat cycle…
That’s how it is…
in my own private Paris,
misogynistic othering
phobic policing
sacks of pure hatred
shitting swaths
of bullets from
gender-uzis
and bursting Balloons here
and over the rainbow
Charissa's Grace Notes 
Hugs, ‘Rissa! It’s all a bit much, isn’t it? Just the other day I was wondering why we all can’t just get along- both on the larger and small scales.
You did pick up on the metaphor, yes?
Yes, I did. (Aren’t you proud of me? lol) There’s hope for me yet.
GIGGLES!!!!!!!!! YES!
You’ve come a long way Baby! From the first reading of my poetry, and being all “ya know, Rissa…I aint a poetry lover but I like this!” to actually now sussing out the complexities layered in…
YES
I’m getting there…….very very slowly! (There’s a reason I lead the 2nd grade reading group, you know!)