(Reblogged from fluttering-slips)

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

Cubes!