mostly
I survived
like a spectator
at a Macy’s parade
my head, anonymous,
part of a blur of cold colors
and checkered sounds
that lined the
straight shores of the concrete stream
of the non floating floats

so it was for many a season
nothing to report,
no rhyme or reason,
until
the heat
of the delta
where I watched you
floating
--not amongst other floats
--not in crisp Manhattan winter
--not with manufactured mirth
  and seasonal symmetry
but with a mangled monkey body
shredded by the rounds
from the M-60
my friend used to blow you from the shaded shore
into the muddy Mekong
all ten years of you
who did nothing except
stand in his sights
wearing black pajamas,
being alive,
for him to ****