Korea

He said, “Yes, I flew a fighter plane over the hills, and the people were running, they were just people, they were villagers, not soldiers, they were running away,” and a tear came to his eye, and it looked like a napalm-rain , as he dabbed away the guilt and regret; because he flew a fighter plane over the hills, and the people were running, running away; but his rain caught them, cindered them; and they weren’t soldiers, they were just people running away, granddads, mothers, babies, aunts; and they were all running, running, running - away then he flew his plane home, over the hills, on to the deck, in to the mess, and ate the food and drank some coffee, and watched TV; and they fuelled, and bombed him up, and he flew again, over the hills, over the hills, far away, far away, passing over the black-scorched earth, the granddads and mothers the babies and aunts and his tears dropped to the cockpit floor, the cockpit door, and the flames told him to jump out quick, before they licked; and when they found him surrounded by silk, they took him back to the deck; and he watched TV and rested, and watched the news, of people running, running, running away; but they didn’t show the granddads , mothers, babies and aunts; his grim, sycophants.