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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.
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