(May 6, 1914 – October 14, 1965 / Nashville)

poet Randall Jarrell
#245 on top 500 poets
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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.

Submitted: Monday, January 20, 2003


Read poems about / on: mother, sleep, dream, death, life

Comments about this poem (The Death of the Ball Turret Gunner by Randall Jarrell )

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  • James Dittes (12/12/2011 1:28:00 PM)

    Does anyone else notice the references to abortion in this poem? A fetus, hunched it its mothers belly, only to be destroyed and washed out with a hose.

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