(translated by the author Piotr Bein from his Polish original, edited by Magnus Bein)

Rhythmic clanking of sprockets
under rubber ribbon
sends a procession of shells
for stuffing of powder, circuits
and a camera
in the tip
of AGM-130.

Rut-tut of a wagon over concrete joints
carries two fat
brand-new AGM-130
in Aviano airbase;
a four-corner star
as per requisition
from Ramstein HQ.

Song of Whitney Huston in the walkman
of airwoman Arrendondo.
Sergeant Harris in Disneyland T-shirt
(same as on his wife and son in Utah)
whistles along, plugging-in
umbilical cords to the belly
of F-15E.

„Thousand victims of the Serbs”
hypnotize 2 robots in a cabin.
Helmets mask soul and face
from humanity,
protect imprint in brain
as seen in canteen on TV,
produced by CNN.

Engine of the world’s best fighter jet
roars at a flag
held by an airman wearing dark glasses
(from his optician in Kansas City),
and fatigues
of world’s best
US of A.

No sound, no sight of Eagle
in lofty skies.
Yugoslav radars
track the ominous bird over Niš
and ask launchers
with a silent gaze,
“Do we have a date?”

Air whistles
against plastic of cabin
of 2 best men in the Air Force –
“10-4” confirms “Eagle landed.”
Eyes fixed on cross-hair,
the hand on the joystick
won’t budge.

Target No. 393
hastens on rails into the cross
through orchards blooming in plums
along Southern Morava River (“that bitch”),
to cross her, to slip under
the (“fucking”) route E75
to Skopje.

A whizzing missile
spies at a bridge.
The world’s best computer calculates
randez-vous with the worst train.
April day clear,
the best radar tracks in infra-red.
It’s APG-70.

Rattles a train past station,
relieved of worst persons
who’ll cross themselves
with 3 fingers before the Cross
of skewed bar on Easter
in the cross-hair
of the bomber.

Loco-motion rumbles over the bridge,
muffles the river’s ripple, but whiz wins.
AGM-130 severs the train.
Blast swipes an angler.
Explosion drowns pain of a hand
torn off; found later
on a hill.

Ears on disowned heads
don’t hear the wounded
or the dying moan.
And eyes,
sprayed with burnt blood,
can’t see from above
fire nor smoke.

Momentum pulls
bleeding stump but stops helpless,
showered by charred pieces
of bodies, baggage and coach interiors.
Those jumping into swollen river
don’t hear the agony of fellow travelers
near Grdelica.

Sobs of relatives engrave dead names
in Cyrillic on black marble.
A disintegrated couple has a monument
without offspring or a Nobel Prize.
The bridge’s new steel embraces wilted wreaths
from families and bridge contractors,
asking “Why?”

…At the new E75 crossing
a German family stretches.
Black Mercedes cleared of Cyrillic
takes off from the black monument
and goes to beaches on the Ion Sea
In 2 weeks the family returns
to the clanking of sprockets

for the next mission of NATO.