We are America.
We are the coffin fillers.
We are the grocers of death.
We pack them in crates like cauliflowers.

The bomb opens like a shoebox.
And the child?
The child is certainly not yawning.
And the woman?
The woman is bathing her heart.
It has been torn out of her
and as a last act
she is rinsing it off in the river.
This is the death market.

America,
where are your credentials?

Analysis, meaning and summary of Anne Sexton's poem The Firebombers

1 Comment

  1. Tom Vlassis says:

    Wow!!! Another tree hugging liberal bashing our country in poem. How original. Very poor subject choice and no substence. While I do not believe with your beliefs, I will fight to the death to defend your right to voice them.

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