Thinking of Hiroshima
The USS Mount Baker
rockets in its hull
fire in its belly
peace on its lips
steams up Japan's Inland
Sea, that sinuous Bungo Suido
past red-right-returning
buoys bringing us home
through the initial BLAST
which will crack our mizzen
mast, HEAT which will cook
our ships metallic skin
and RADIATION that leaves
fingerprints on our souls
and on the faces of those who
wave on the Hiroshima pier
miniature Americna flags
a half-hearted Noh, a pantomine
a mask we sailors will gladly
exchange for a pint of our expiation blood.