Paratroopers drop by the millions,
expanses of silk rotting
and riddled with holes,
buffeted through spidering skies
by the voraciously keening winds.
We send our children to war
in full battle regalia—heavy hats and coats,
weapons pointing jauntily over shoulders—
and wave them out the door
into a massacre.
The skirmish lasts for hours,
an endless loop of capture,
kill, mass grave, capture;
each new wave desperate
Turkey and potatoes bring them home,
stumbling in battle-worn and hungry,
the smell of wet leaves lingering,
heavy and bitterly nostalgic.