• Subverb@lemmy.world
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    10 days ago

    Maybe try a poem.

    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 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.

    Randall Jarrell, 1945