He searches for the war poem, lost
in his home, tropes slipping to gray.
Where are you Gregory Peck,
losing yourself, your memory,
your crew in “Twelve O’Clock
High?”
You braved flak so thick you
could walk on it, German fighters
diving from the sun, machine guns
blazing, crew dying near the drop
zone.
Terror claimed your mind, battle
fatigue freezing your climb to
the bomber’s hatch. Too many
missions, too much death.
Now another enemy stalks
the patient’s mind, stealing
names, events, memories—
characters gone in plaque.
In what’s left of his dreams
he sees you and Jennifer Jones,
dying in each other’s arms,
high on a mountain slope,
a final “Duel in the Sun.”
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