Winter for the Bombardier

by Kevin Griffith

 

Like a lost soldier, the wind crawls

with blue feet. I am through

with memories of the bomb run.

 

Even watching the snow fall

brings is all back. It's as though

the frost grows on my site again

 

and I must strain to see it all,

to steer the nameless cities into view.

I am not a man, but another weapon

 

used for a time, moth balled

like any other rusted iron truth.

And yes, under the bed, my gun

 

is ready for the can't-miss kill.

Like newsreels, they replay too soon,

these visions of wings and frozen

 

clouds of ash. One shot and I'll

drop like a bomb in my thoughts:

invisible, harmless to no one.

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