As the Pacific War came to an end
an aircraft carrier struck by torpedoes
split in half and sank with a boil and
suddenly all the planes had no target
nowhere to go but up into the clouds
where they stayed for decades slowly
getting smaller and when it seemed
safe to venture back down to earth
they were the size of mosquitoes,
smaller even, safe from the radar
and cannons and the uniformed men
who'd ordered them to drive their tiny
bombs straight into the enemy's face
with a scream that now only a bat
would be able to hear.
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