Abrade - poem

The jihadists sang carols
while they did laps around
the pile of rubble
they earlier blew up,
it was an evil music store,
like the candy and soda shop
they did last week.

They were saving the many heathens,
their brothers and ignorant families
from the certain wrath
and their very inspiration,
their beloved God and prophet,
Mohammad Jingle Jangle,
the paragon of sharia t-o-l-e-r-a-n-c-e.

After their sweaty workout, they dined,
picked each other's teeth,
surmised who was not
following their dictates,
driving their tanks in circles
in righteous anger,
plotted which building to blow next,
then selected by straws who would
strap the vest on the suicide girl.