This Is For History

He rustled up his skin and bone
and idly heard the plane:
a distant, even quiet drone,
indefinite, mundane.
He threw his shadow at the stone
and left behind a stain.

Historians with flaking eyes
and cancer of the brain
can cut the monument to size
or tranquilise the pain.
He threw his shadow at the skies
and left behind a stain.

So mind your language, understand
this song has no refrain -
like celluloid inside a can,
it curls and curls again.
He threw his shadow like a man
and left behind a stain.

,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

From the book Tony Blair reminds me of a budgie

August 6th 1995 was the fiftieth aniversary of Hiroshima.

Paul Tibbets, the pilot of 'Enola Gay' (named after his
mother) broke the news of the mission over the intercom
to the crew thus: "This is for history. So mind your language.
We're carrying the first atomic bomb."