Monday, November 11, 2013
During World War II, this poem appeared in the New York Times.
My son, they say, has killed eleven men.
Tomorrow he will fly and kill and kill again.
The neighbors say that he will get a shiny silver cross to
They speak as if eleven men is not enough of a cross to bear.
One of my uncles fought in World War II. Like many others who fought in war, he would never talk about that time in his life.