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Jul 2017
a flock of them we call a ******,
though not what I did to ****** men
I shot on the Mekong, who did nothing
but startle me a muggy mornΒ Β 

I watched them float,
face down in primordial mire,
not far from the wire, which
split their world from mineΒ Β 

birds came by noon
greedy passerines perching, pecking
on black clad backs; they sang not a word
of thanks to me

though I had made a meal of men,
for those who drop from blue skies--not even
when the flesh pulled swiftly from bone, and
blood flowed silent over their talons

July 4, 1970, Mekong Delta, Vietnam
spysgrandson
Written by
spysgrandson
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