The Death Of The Ball Turret Gunner by Randall Jarrell

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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.

Randall Jarrell

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

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Susan Webster (7/25/2006 10:28:00 AM)
One of the first poems I memorised. The enormity (and banality) of the sacrifice of this almost embryonic life is encapsulated in a mere five lines. So timely to re-read this poem just now, as another senseless war in the Middle East (July,2006) pushes up similar sacrifices of innocent and ignorant pseudo-warriors.