poem of the day

First, it helps to know that, during WWII, small, glass encased balls hung under some bomber planes in which short soldiers would curl in the fetal position weilding two big guns with little protection against incoming fire.

Death of a Ball Turret Gunner
by Randall Jarrell

"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 the 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."