he didn't see the sheep blocking the traffic.
He was deaf to the screams of the taxi driver.
When the shepherd boy banged his staff
on the hood of the Mercedes and cursed,
May God cut your testicles, Father flipped
a page as if shooing a fly. A bearded militiaman,
high on hashish, fired his Kalashnikov into the air.
Father sipped coffee. The sheep didn't move.
A stray bullet pierced a cawing raven. A tainted
feather found an open page, smeared words
like clubfoot and bondage. Maugham required
a bookmark on Father's lap.
This poem appeared in Barzakh, an online literary journal.