All morning long, rockets shot by
I stood by sandbags, opened-eyed!

At night, at night—the same
I, and my head dodging such things.

Little I thought, I’d die that morning,
For here I am, to write the story.

For out of the mysterious, Vietnam,
Came a blood-red sky for everyone.

Rockets whistled in the bloody sky,
They have tails like hawks, as they fly!

But the worst of all
…is when they land
A ghostly fate, in deadly sand…!

#648 [5/12/2005]

Part Seven

Vietnam: The Ballad of Lustful Luke

Ugh! What a shame—;
Let me whisper Luke’s lustful game:

He’d make love several

Times a day….

As I swept the dusty steps,
Polished my dirty boots

And cleaned my oily gun—
He’d be screwing everyone!!

And that is how we got to know
Each others name (that is so).

And he’d say:
“You want to play…?”

And I’d answer:
“Got things to do, not today Lue!”

Yes, even when in the mist

Of combat—

He’d dip-down into
His little hut and screw
Screw his many sluts…!

“O flee, flee…” I told him many

Times—
“Before disease

Warped his mind.

But he never zippered-up

Those olive-green pants,
And thus, his spinal-cord

Collapsed.

Unable to stand: he was
Flown to Tokyo, Japan.

Part Eight

Vietnam: The Barbwire

“Their all messed up in the barbwire—
(he said); shoot them in the head…

let’s fire!”
Oh, what a time to die.

They never made a moan.
Caught in the barbwire fence:

Wet, with sweat to the bone!

Now here we stand, awaiting command

And the VC hasn’t a chance.
And here we swear, smoke and

Crack dirty jokes—
As daylight grows awfully dim.

And here we play cards and laugh
While the cursed foe wiggles back,

Back through the barbwire fence;
As we wait for command, and wait

And wait…until they’re gone.