Yet she was alone. Had the sight of us marines scared her family
away? And where was the child?
We'd never know, for no one amongst us spoke her language,
or could read her eyes, and even if we could, barrel-assing up the trail
was the sergeant who demanded to know what the hell the holdup was.
"Damn, look for yourself," Doc said, and began to plead her case, along
with Glenn and a few others who only wanted to help, wanted to see her taken
to safety. Yet it was the sergeants bellow we bowed to, and not our hearts and minds.
"I see no baby!
Leave her.
Move the hell out.
This is plain and simple.
A trick.
A goddamn ambush."
And we left her behind.
The Moratorium
In protest
of the war,
everyone driving a vehicle
on the day of the Moratorium,
drove with headlights on,
in the bright light of day. Yes,
it seemed like everyone.
I rode around town
with my old high school pals,
drank beer in the back seat.
Half smashed,
I told about a village
we burnt, after John, from Wisconsin,
was blown to smithereens.
"Not cool," they said.
Not the part about John, tripping
a booby-trap, but the burning of the village.
Stopped at a red-light,
I opened the car door,
stumbled out, and walked away
on my own.
My pals drove around the block,
then came back,
flashing the headlights
from high to low,
to high to low,
blew the horn
made a ruckus,
and threw me the finger.
Before Midnight
When I came home from the war,
the high school girls wanted no more
than burgers, fries and a coke from McDonalds,
or, wanted just to hold hands and be friends,
and always needed to be home,
before midnight.
Me? I wanted to be in Bangkok
once more.
A Consequence of War
Sometimes
I just can't figure
how one year
or three hundred sixty five days
or eight thousand, seven hundred, sixty hours
or five hundred, twenty-five thousand minutes
or thirty-one million, five hundred, thirty-six thousand seconds
or the memory of one dead friend,
in Vietnam,
can screw up the other
ninety-seven point five percent of my life,
sending me into a rage
when I open the refrigerator door
and discover the milk
has been pushed to the rear,
blocked by the iced tea.
Survivor's Guilt
my neighbor told me
he went to the Wall,
said he should have gone,
could have gone,
wanted to go,
had orders,
but...
I went.
should have died,
could have died,
almost died,
but...
John Wayne
Not back then, not back
there, back in the jungle
in the thick of battle
when I drew a bead
upon your silhouette
centered dead in my sights,
but now
years later
as I walk with my dog
through the forest
autumn colored
peaceful and quiet,
I wonder,
"Had you ever heard of John Wayne?
And who did you
want to be when you,
or if you had grown up."
The moment
I squeezed the trigger
and your silhouette
dropped from sight,
I haven't forgotten you,
haven't known who I am, not
since I became John Wayne.
Confession
You come to confess your sins?"
"Yes Father... I shot and killed a man."
Yes, go on.
I killed him.
When?
During the war.
This man, he was a soldier?
Yes, Father
An enemy soldier?
Yes Father.
And you were a soldier?
Yes Father, in battle.
Well, son, those things happen. Do you have other sins for the Lord?
No, Father
No?
No, Father.
How are you with yourself?
What Father?
How are you? Do you touch? Masturbate?
......... Yes
Then let us bow our heads and pray for forgiveness.
#####
I served in Vietnam with Mike Company,
3rd Battalion, 5th Marines, 1st Marine Division
from October 1968 to October 1969.
I had just turned eighteen
when I arrived in country.
Nothing really prepared me
for what I saw.
I returned to Vietnam in June of 1990.
People asked me why I would want to go back
to a place which seemed so troubling
for me. I told them I was going back to see
if I had really been there the first time.
When I returned back home in 1990,
my old war wounds were opened wide. I had
reoccurring dreams. I sat myself down one morning
and began to write. I had never written a poem in my life,
but the words just came to me,
and although the visions may disturb the reader,
my nightmares have come to an end,
and hopefully yours won't begin.
Please remember those who lost their life
in Vietnam, and try to be kind to those who survived,
those who can always use a little love.
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