Thursday, March 12, 2009

The Death of the Ball Turret Gunner


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 the 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. Randall Jarrell.

Go read this.

4 comments:

Pat aka Posh said...

Oh.. so sad

That's a 7-letter Deborah, never a Deb said...

This is one of my all-time favorit poems.

Rochelle R. said...

That was a very touching story. My 87 year old Dad was a career Naval Officer but only began to talk about WW Two a few years ago. I know I should record some of his stories.

Rebecca said...

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