James’s Note: There were two inspirations for this poem. One was something that happened to my father in law. He was once pinned down by snipers fire in an undisclosed location where he never officially has been. They called in for assistance, and a A10 Warthog obliterated the enemy position. Which is why he says that is his favorite airplane.
The other is from a book I once read about a man in World War 2. He went around in a jeep armed with nothing but a pair of binoculars and a radio, and yet he reckoned himself the most dangerous man on the battle field. See, he was a forward observer for the artillery, and said his job was to trap German soldiers between an erupting earth and an exploding sky, in a whirlwind of razor blades.
This poem is dedicated to any one who has ever had a prayer answered by high explosives, and anyone who has every been the cavalry that can in when they were needed most.
The bullets rained down
Like a hail made of lead
As we dove for the cover,
Our blood running red.
We sent out a call
Like a wireless prayer,
And we tried to hold out
Until help could get there.
Then a thunder rolled out
We could feel in our chests
And it struck down the place
Where our foes were at rest.
The black hand of God
Fell on them from on high,
With fire and smoke and
Death sent from the sky.
We looked up to see
Where the havoc had rained.
The foes were all gone.
Only rubble remained.
We gathered the wounded
And hurried on by
And sent out our thanks
For the hell from on high.
Gray Matters: The Works of Sharon and James Gray 