(trigger warning, contains violence) It was the loudest thing, I knew what it was, I didn’t see it, No light flash, no searing heat, Just car alarms after wards, And the police, Loudhailering us to stay away from the windows. It didn’t even shatter my glass. (Once a bomb outside the Royal Courts of Justice Blew the shattered glass all the way across the hall, And that’s what did the most harm Not the bomb itself. Now they have weighted net curtains Which apparently does the trick.) Brompton’s was evacuated: All these men in tight white tee-shirts Corralled in the street, Said Rupert Everett, later. And while it was over the road from my room, Over the road was Fulham, Not Kensington. I didn’t get any worried phone calls Unlike the time one went off, accidentally, on the bus 2 miles away near Sloan Square. I can’t imagine what it was like On the tube. My friend still has nightmares, Walking past those That didn’t make it. Or the medic who found the man Closest to the blast, eyes pleading, The wires still attached to him. Unlike his spine.