We follow the roads on the map
The tangan tangan scratches the side of the rental car
before we decide the jungle couldn't have
reclaimed this much of the runways

Soon down West Runway
we are a B52 bomber speeding
the kids screaming in the back
ocean ahead of takeoff

There's not much to see in the end:
A filled in pit a palm growing
Three Japanese men older than my father
posing for photographs

We leave them silence to think
and park by Bomb Loading Pit No 2
The Enola Gay has already dropped its bomb on
Hiroshima
From here Nagasaki got its turn

The three men and us
could be the only people left in the world
on a small island
amongst the archaeology of war

We are polite
Swap pits
Take away souvenirs in our cameras
Disbelieve the world could have been that stupid

Hope the children remember