Grayish, like an airplane
But with stubs, not wings
Flying straight and low and fast
To watch it in flight
It’s beautiful to me
Like an air show
A demonstration
But no cockpit?
Too narrow to seat a pilot
Long and sleek
Arrow straight
It’s going somewhere
It was sent, launched
By someone
By many people
Who told it to go
Gave the destination
And the load of Nothing
It won’t turn
Won’t slow down
Won’t stop
When it gets close
Wheels won’t fold out
And it won’t land
It won’t knock
Ring the bell
Or use the door
It will be horrible
Slamming, smashing, screeching
Exploding
Bricks, metal, glass
Spraying, dis-integrating, burning
Drywall, pipes, wires, and cameras
Skin, intestines, nerves, and eyes
Structure falling
Debris scattering
Dust clearing
Silence…
Until sirens fill the air
Red flashing lights
Follow the road
Swerving around boulders
Or pieces of building
Around bundles
Or pieces of people
People
Who we could never know were good or bad
Nor what they would have felt
Some hours later
When they would have been
But some miles away
Opening a door
Stepping in
And sitting down
With their family for dinner
Jim's Writing 
Strong piece.
It speaks for itself.
This piece is taut and spare – and relentless, like the projectile it describes. Powerful imagery.