night
under jungle canopy
was dark as a cave.
at twilight
you crept
two hundred meters out
from the perimeter.
you and another.
the radio,
two claymore mines,
M-16s-three clips each-
half a dozen grenades,
pop-up flares,
and four canteens of water.
fear fed thirst.
you opened two packets
of instant coffee,
spilled them into your mouth,
washed them down,
and felt your head jitter
all night long.
there was always sound.
jungle rats or snakes,
maybe even tigers,
or NVA probing the lines.
if there were many of them,
you sent up the flares,
fired into the dark,
detonated the claymores,
and were the first to die.
(I was M-60 machine gunner with the Ninth Marines in South
Vietnam, 1968. LP is a military acronym for ’listening post.’ )