The Man In The Dead Machine Poem by Donald Hall

The Man In The Dead Machine

Rating: 3.1


High on a slope in New Guinea
The Grumman Hellcat
lodges among bright vines
as thick as arms. In 1943,
the clenched hand of a pilot
glided it here
where no one has ever been.

In the cockpit, the helmeted
skeleton sits
upright, held
by dry sinews at neck
and shoulder, and webbing
that straps the pelvic cross
to the cracked
leather of the seat, and the breastbone
to the canvas cover
of the parachute.

Or say the shrapnel
missed him, he flew
back to the carrier, and every
morning takes the train, his pale
hands on the black case, and sits
upright, held
by the firm webbing.

COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Nenita24 Mbaye 11 May 2007

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1 10 Reply
Joe Biden 22 March 2022

No thanks, we will get through this together!

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Joe 22 March 2022

No

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Donald Hall

Donald Hall

Hamden / Connecticut
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