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BREAD Old boys, the cracked boards spread before You, bread and spam fruit cocktail powder Of eggs. I who had not risen, but just come down From the night sky knew always this was nothing Like home for under the table I was cut deep In the shoes To make them like sandals no stateside store Ever sold and my shirtsleeves were ragged as Though chopped off by propellers in the dark. It was all our squadron, old boys : it was thus I sat with you on your first morning On the earth, Old boys newly risen from a B-25 sinking slowly Into the swamps of Ceram. Patrick said We got out we got out on the wings And lived there we spread our weight Thin as we could arms and legs spread, we lay Down night and day, We lived on the wings. When one of us got to one Knee to spear a frog to catch a snake To eat, we lost another inch. O that water, He said. O that water. Old boys, when you first Rose, I sat with you in the mess-tent On solid ground, At the unsinkable feast, and looked at the bread Given to lizard-eaters. They set it down And it glowed from under your tongues Fluttered you reached the scales fell From your eyes all of us weightless from living On wings so long No one could escape no one could sink or swim Or fly. I looked at your yellow eyeballs Come up evolved drawn out of the world's slime Falling 265 Amphibious eyes and Patrick said Bread Is good I sat with you in my own last war Poem I closed my eyes I ate the food I ne'er had eat. 266 ...

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