This is the day they say lives in infamy, a day my uncles
recall, as did my father, but already ancient history to me, my days of infamy
differing from theirs, the sting of abuse I waged unprovoked but now regret,
the hurt I have caused, the sneak attack I should never have undertaken, no Jap
planes in my brain, just the perpetual memory, the darkness of a tavern I fled
from, the woman I abandoned, to later hear the peal of her pain, not the done
of planes, this is a day I reflect as I stumble into a holiday season full of
regrets, the sound of my own disaster still resounding.
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