While doing a little research for my
War Geek blog, I ran across a reference to one of my favorite poems, which I'm now going to inflict on you:
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.
It's called, appropriately enough,
The Death of the Ball Turret Gunner, by Randall Jarrell. (Click the post title for the full story.)
No comments:
Post a Comment