No music calls a teenager to war; There is no American Bandstand of death, No bugles sound a glorious John Wayne charge For corpses floating down the Vam Co Tay
No rockin’ sounds for all the bodies bagged No “Gerry Owen” to accompany Obscene screams in the hot, rain-rotting night. Bullets do not ****. Mortars do not crump.
There is no rattle of musketry. The racket and the horror are concussive. Men – boys, really – do not choose to die, “Willingly sacrifice their lives,” that lie;
They just writhe in blood, on a gunboat deck Painted to Navy specifications.
Note re news from Texas and California: How bitterly ironic that attending a religious service in the USA is now as dangerous as combat.