Bomber Man by John Grey

she said he flew bombers
tenderly making love
to Europe with explosives

back home
she didn’t know the details
of death
just its way with people

she waited
and knitting needles
scratched her fingers

he returned
talking Paris in the spring
not alone in the sky
bending and weaving
through a crucifix of lights

but she sees missions in his eyes
worries when he goes to the store
that this time the traffic cop
the checkout girl the cab driver
might return his fire