it was evident as the old bus pulled around the corner,

a corner wayyyy up top on a mountain.

next to another mountain with snow.

snow – in Beirut? who knew.

I sure didn’t.

and then looking down, down, down to the coast

the downtown sticking out like an arrow into the Med.

gorgeous beaches in Beirut? nope – had no idea either.

I knew jokes, and news stories.

and other things that were sad.

but the evidence, things that were evident,

were up on that corner.

see, a few turns later, we started to descend.

my ears knew this before my eyes did.

about the 3rd switchback was a sign

‘portabello sandwich!!’ great – thanks Hardee’s.

[who knew, who knew]

but below the highlighted mushroom declaration was a little house,

a little old guard-post.

red, if I remember correctly.

with some holes. and lots of chipped paint.

burgers and bulletholes – welcome to Beirut.

they go out, my gosh, they go out a lot.

nice cars, good boobs and lips and other assorted purchases.

one big ‘fuck you’ to something somewhere, whatever they used to have

or might again someday.

men with hard faces guard the buildings they once cannoned.

boom! went the town. and then boom! went the industry.

explosion and commerce.

tragedy and the aftermath.

but through the haze, the expensive jazz clubs

and many, too many sunglasses for one person

hovers the reminder, right up there by that first turn,

that no matter the size of the capitalistic plaster,

there will always be a few spare scars,

of a small-pox called yesterday.