by Stephen Ramey

We dropped baguettes over Rouen, their golden crusts catching the sunlight as they fell. Through the scope I watched shrapnel crumbs fly out at impact, the rings of smiling faces around that point that formed a hungry bull’s eye. I thought of the hundreds of people who would be fed, bone thin children, women with upside down mascara eyes, men grown saggy in the constancy of their defeat. (more…)