my lunch was a city
here is my meal: turkey, carrots, stuffing.
i am the general; she is the pilot;
‘gravy?’ she asks.
‘only on the turkey,’ i reply.
down rains the thick liquid
spreading along the slabs of meat
and then the box shuts closed.
i later reopen the box:
the turkey is soaked; the carrots are soaked; the stuffing is soaked;
a bomb knows no friends but death.
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