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Guitars, Sandbags, and Saigon Tea |
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Sitting on the sandbags watching the war,
Wondering
what on earth I volunteered for.
Hearing Larry's guitar
softly play,
Pondering just what I've accomplished today.
Riding in a cyclo down Tu Do Street,
Watching ladies
in Ao Dais, clean and neat,
Gliding by bar girls with
sirens' eyes
Offering Saigon Tea and enticing thighs.
Smelling burnt flesh, a bitter stink,
Seeing
young-old eyes that never blink:
Listening to White as he
pats his feet,
Strumming his guitar while keeping the
beat.
Hearing my voice singing soft and low
Shouting folks back home snarling, "I won't go!"
Sitting
down on the end of my rack
Thinking �bout the ones who
won't come back.
Staring at the tracers, neon bright,
Searching for a life to snuff tonight.
Crouching behind
sandbags fighting the war
Knowing now exactly what I
volunteered for:
Preserving the right of the people
to be free
To spit on the Flag, this uniform, and me. |
By
Thurman P. Woodfork
Copyright 2001
Listed
January 29, 2011 |
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