Arriving sheepishly in
Paradise, he slinks to
the back of a bank of clouds,
conceals himself from
successful Jihadists
lounging in the shade of
palms bearing golden fruit.

Spotting him, they sneer,
Averting their gaze to dishonor.

“Only the greatest of fools
blows up himself alone.”

“Not a single Jew or Infidel.”

“Where’s the honor in that?”

“Idiot.”

Allah has no time to meet with this
rank amateur, sends a minor
Angel to inform him
he will receive a stock of
virgins per his intent,
but reduced in number and stature.

Twelve to be exact, some fat,
some with skin problems,
good enough for such as he.

He heads down the hill
leading his straggling flock
to an oasis circled by threadbare trees,
where the well is shallow,
the water warm,
the glory diminished.