Putting the significance of the British Open in perspective

Not even the British Open
could close the gaping wound
of a bleeding Empire
rocked by terror.

Although a hungry Tiger
taunted us with his under-par rounds,
the underground destruction caused
by beasts of another stripe
could not be appeased
by Saint Andrew or any other.

One remains a game
for which there is no rival.
The other finds grieving loved ones
identifying remains
while embracing a pain
for which there is no killer.

The Londonderry air is heavy.
The sky is dark.
Mac Arthur Park is still melting,
but not for the reason you might think.
No one left a cake out in the rain.
Nonetheless, there are birthday candles on a few
that will never be blown out.
These unlit wicks belong to mommies and daddies
who will never be coming home again.

A single bomb took out a double-decker bus.
Three others went off in carriages
beneath the streets of an unsuspecting city.
As with September 11th,
the 7th of July is a date that shall live in infamy.

Ironically, only three days after we Americans
were celebrating our political independence
from our cousins across the pond,
we were reaching out to them
with open arms and understanding hearts.
Pledging our allegiance
we were only too quick
to acknowledge our emotional dependence
and a common goal.

United we will stand
to knock Al-Qaeda off its feet.