the privilege
to ask these questions, was granted to me
before the long black veil of night
covered my eyes    

could I?
the lieutenant gave the command
and we all fired on them  
a platoon of us, against three pajama clad VC  
skinny as monkeys, minding their own business
walking that trail, a thin rope through the jungle
made by the feet of thousands before them  
safe they thought, so far from
the foreign monsters--US  

would I?
of course, and I did
with 49 other night stalkers
who then crawled with me to find our ****  
100 elbows through the tall grass
100 knees close behind  

should I?  
we found them, each a riddle,  
riddled with a dozen holes apiece
mangled flesh asking the question, was one of those red roses yours?  
did my round take off his ear?  or sever his spine, or did mine
fly somewhere in the dark night, where these
sorrowful souls now dwelt forever      

could I? would I, should I?
I got to ask those questions,
and pulling the trigger,
my fumbling finger answered all 3...
the signal that moved it, the message
that traveled down my spine
from a place darker, deeper
than the night  

the privilege to ask
still there, a lifetime later, in waking dream  
long after the fallen became part of the grass  
we slithered through to see them  
before they could ask,
could I? would I,
should I?