War Poem


I.

Manila folders fan out on the bed in my office

The long lingering aroma of ammonia creeps out of the bathroom;

Irritating my nasal membranes

That acrid fragrance of jungle latrines.

II.

We were fodder for the soil. Napalmed in Vietnam.

Those clinical insertions of gasoline & flame; In fields of fire

The ethereal spirits at parade rest.

And I, I was retching regurgitating.

Resurrected, it appeared, for my reunion with Mr. Grave.

nearby a Buddha sits, near rain drenched rows of rice

And I, lying on a pile of stones

The wind caressing my hair; dog tags glinting in the dawn.

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