At Forty Thousand Feet*

I watched shell casings

Fall from the sky

The day I saw

The angels die.

The air so clear, so cold

Contrails twisting overhead

Warriors in heaven

Seemed all were dead.

Too few parachutes

So much flame

Boys were dying

Without a name.

Silent warfare in the sky.

At forty thousand feet

It seemed so bloodless

So quiet and neat.

But, that’s not the way it was.

Down here, it seemed a dance

But at forty thousand feet

They had no chance.

I could not see roundels, stars

Or the German crosses.

All I could see

Was bloody losses.

I watched shell casings

Fall from the sky

The day I saw

The angels die.

*With the police force, I have seen homicide, suicide and fatalities. I am familiar with death in all its tragedy. But I have never seen combat, for which I am thankful. If I have any skill with language, I think it incumbent upon me to occasionally keep the horror of war before us. I believe when we, as non-combatants, take such horror for granted; when we esteem war as a necessary evil in which somebody else must engage, we build a super highway that assures there will always be another war. But that is okay, isn't it? As long as we get our lattes on time. Sarcastic? You betcha.