The Death of the Ball Turret Gunnerby Randall Jarrell
From my mother's sleep I fell into the State,
And I hunched in its belly till my wet fur froze.
Six miles from earth, loosed from its dream of life,
I woke to black flak and the nightmare fighters.
When I died they washed me out of the turret with a hose.
No comments:
Post a Comment
I love to collect thoughts. I would love to collect some of yours, if they are mindful and respectable.