BombersBirds above us westward, boring tunnels through the blue,with brains of joyful pilot and nerves of happy crew. Mission accomplished, homeward, less their deadly eggs -- earthbound, we plod eastward on weary, aching legs.
They'll bathe and dine in England; warm and dry they'll sleep.
The "Strategic" WithdrawalA sullen river of flesh and steelwound sluggishly to the rear -- machines and zombi men who could not feel their own mechanical legs, nor hope nor fear, smoking tanks, half-tracks, Jeeps, men weary, limping, lame, insensate, but in their eyes, disbelief and shame.
|
AttritionDirty, unshaven, dull-eyed menwaiting for food in a line, a kitchen truck in the muddy snow in a shell-scarred wood of pine.
A young gold-barred replacement
(He'd remould into shoulders
Responding then to an unheard cue,
"Which platoon is this?" he asked *According to my grandfather, a well-known place for infantrymen that had training at Fort Benning, Georgia. Officer training school.
|