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My poems provide a glimpse into a part of my soul. I hope you find them at least a little bit beautiful.
Poems
jake aller Apr 2019
saigon poems
jake aller
Apr 2019
Seeing Ghosts
I walk around the streets
Of old Saigon
Seeing sensing the undead
The ghosts of the war
That haunted life
So many years ago
So many people died
For a war
That never should have been fought
For reasons that are still not clear
A great tragedy unfolded
In a land half away
Around the world
The ghosts smile at me
And then they disappear
Leaving me in the present
Life goes on
Old Ghosts
Old ghosts wandering the streets of old Saigon
Lost spirits of the dead
Died during the endless wars
Ghostly apparitions around every corner
Here was Kilroy
and his gang of soldiers
Over there were the Viet Cong
Waiting to **** them
Saigon is filled with memories like that
Terrible times were had here in Old Saigon
Silently the ghosts parade the city streets
As the tourists drink in the bars
Mastering the Saigon Shuffle
When I first visited Saigon
Learning the Saigon Shuffle
Was difficult
And now 24 years later
It all seems to be coming back
There is an art to crossing the street
Dodging the motor cyclists, the taxis, the private cars
The bikes and other pedestrians and the buses
The art consists of letting the big guys go first
Then walk between the motorcycles and cyclists
Trusting that they will get out of your way
And they being masters of the Saigon shuffle
Always find a way
In my two visits I was struck
By how it all flows together
Without a central authority
And with almost no planning
Lights or cops
Somehow it just is
And somehow it works
And it is still a mystery to me
24 years after first
Encountering the Saigon shuffle
Coffee Lady
Every morning
I have gone out for Vietnamese coffee
At a sidewalk café
Down the ally from our AIRBNB
The owner is a pleasant middle age woman
Who for some reason likes us
She smiles at us
Greets us in Vietnamese
She does not understand English
Or Korean
And I wonder why
Why was there this connection
Between us
It dawned on me
Perhaps in a prior life
She knew an American or two
And I remind her of someone
Or perhaps she is found
Of Korean K drama
And Angela reminds her
Of her favorite K Drama star
Or perhaps it is both
Or another reason entirely
But I moved today
And will miss her
Might go back for a final cup
Of coffee
To say good bye
To my Vietnamese coffee lady
Mostly Harmless Old Lady in the Alley
There is an old Vietnamese lady
In the neighborhood
Obviously senile
But everyone knows her
And watches over her
To make sure
She stays out of traffic
And out of trouble
She talks to everyone
But no one seems to understand
What she is babbling on about
They smile at her
And she smiles back
Reminds me of the phrase
From the hitchiker’s guide to the galaxy
Mostly harmless
And she for some reason
She likes us
And like my Vietnamese Coffee lady
I wonder why
Why was there this connection
Between us
It dawned on me
Perhaps in a prior life
She knew an American or two
And I remind her of someone
Or perhaps she is found
Of Korean K drama
And Angela reminds her
Of her favorite K Drama star
Or perhaps it is both
Or another reason entirely
But in any event
I look forward
To seeing her smiling face
Every time I walk
Down my ally way
Avoiding the War Due to Two Birthdays
I avoided being drafted
Due to a fluke in my birth certificate
In 1974 the last draft was held
And some people were drafted
But no one went to Vietnam
The war was ending by then
I avoided the draft though
To no effort on my own
My number came up on the draft list
My real birthday was in the zone
But then my mother pointed out
That my legal birthday was different
When I was born at 4 am
The night clerk typed up
My birth certificate
With the wrong date
My father pointed that out
She said
Once I typed it
That is it
His birthday will be
What I typed
Get use to it
My father gave up
And so, 18 years later
That saved me
From the last draft
Never made it to Vietnam
Many years latter
I visited Vietnam
Right after we opened relations
Glad I finally got to see
The country
That so many Americans visited
so many decades ago
Buddha In Vietnam
In Saigon I saw the buddha
Buddha images are everywhere
Temples are scattered about
Here and there and everywhere
Buddha lives on
In the hearts and minds
Of the Vietnamese soul
The communists tried
To get rid of Buddhism
And other religious traditions
But they failed
And Buddhism has come back
Still speaks to the Vietnamese people
A different style
A different vibe
Than Korean Buddhism
But still Buddhist thought
Prevails in the tropical lands
Of the South
Mekong Dreams
Traveling along the Mekong
Back in time
Seeing the river
The people
Imagining life on the river
Imagining the war
The past in the Mekong delta
And the present tourist boom
Yet life goes on
With its own laid back rhythm
As we traversed the river
We were transported back
To an earlier time
Following the ancient rhythms
Of the Mekong Delta
Down and Out in Saigon
Southeast Asia, and Mexico
has always attracted
A certain type of westerner
The down and out
On a down word spiral
Why?
Relatively cheap to live
Lots of part time gigs
Teaching English
Or other things
*****, drugs, ***
Readily available
And cheap
Places to stay
Dirt cheap
And no one needs
To sleep out doors
Easy to disappear
Into the foreigners backpackers ghettos
And escape
From whatever you are running from
The locals are somewhat tolerant
The police usually look the other way
And there are lots of people
In your shoes
I was surprised to find
That Saigon has become
The latest place
For the down and outer crowd
To gather together
In Bangkok one sees them a lot
In Cambodia as well
In the Philippines
In Nepal
And south of the border
In Mexico as well
In India not so much
In Japan and Korea
Just too **** expensive
And too cold to be outdoors
Back in the day
I used to work
The citizen services gig
And saw lots of the down and outer set
The old song comes to mind
No one remembers you
When you are down and out
And in the States
Being down and out
Means living on the mean streets
As it is very difficult
To live with almost no money
And the various side hustles
Don’t give you much money
Unless you are dealing drugs
And teaching ESL
Is not an option
Food is expensive
Transportation is expensive
***** and drugs expensive
Rent is prohibitive
Commercial *** is expensive
And no one loves you
If you are down and out
No one knows your name
You are just another homeless ***
Invisible to all
As you try to make do
Much better to be down and out
In Southeast Asia
Than on the mean streets
Of the USA
Ghosts of Chu Chi
Crawling down the tunnels
Of Chu Chi
I could almost imagine
The Viet Kong guerillas
Hiding deep under the tunnels
As the land above is turned
Into a temporary dessert
With the vegetation burned off
By ****** and agent orange
The Viet Kong creep out at night
Stealing onto the bases
Stealing weapons, food, supplies
And occasionally killing soldiers
In their sleep
The US soldiers
Stay on base at night
Terrified of the mosquitos
And of the Viet Kong
the ghosts
Surround me
Telling me their stories
And at last I fled
Through the emergency escape tunnel
Declaring victory
Profoundly shaken up
By the ghosts of the Chu Chi tunnels
Saigon 2019
Saigon 2019
Vibrant, vivid, exciting
A city on the move
Becoming a world class city
Yet still with a Saigon swagger
Wandering the streets
Dodging the traffic
Admiring the women
Enjoying the food
Saigon enters my heart
And I know that I will be back
This city is growing on me
Reminds me of Korea back in the 1990’s
One hopes that as it develops
It will not become a carbon copy
Of other big Asian cities
Obliterating its past
In search of a false modern image
I hope it can retain
What makes Saigon Saigon
And not become another Gangnam
Hope it does it with Saigon style
And the people will evolve
The country will emerge
And become what it should be
The Paris of the East
This is my vision
Saigon 2019
Saigon 1995
Saigon 1995
In 1995
I was one of the first tourists
Allowed in to Vietnam
To freely wander about
Tourism was at its infancy
And Saigon was chaotic
Wild and crazy
Traffic was insane
There were few tourism sites
Few hotels
Few guest houses
And not too many restaurants
The food was good
We saw the war memorial
The re-unification palace
And the big market
But we felt we were being monitored
Beggars were everywhere
There were scams everywhere
And it was not that pleasant an experience
But Saigon grew up
Became a much more tourist-friendly place
And these problems we encountered
A thing of the place
Saigon is so much better
So much more developed
That it has captured our soul
And we will be back
I walk around the streets
Of old Saigon
Seeing sensing the undead
The ghosts of the war
That haunted life
So many years ago
So many people died
For a war
That never should have been fought
For reasons that are still not clear
A great tragedy unfolded
In a land half away
Around the world
The ghosts smile at me
And then they disappear
Leaving me in the present
Life goes on
Old Ghosts
Old ghosts wandering the streets of old Saigon
Lost spirits of the dead
Died during the endless wars
Ghostly apparitions around every corner
Here was Kilroy
and his gang of soldiers
Over there were the Viet Cong
Waiting to **** them
Saigon is filled with memories like that
Terrible times were had here in Old Saigon
Silently the ghosts parade the city streets
As the tourists drink in the bars
Mastering the Saigon Shuffle
When I first visited Saigon
Learning the Saigon Shuffle
Was difficult
And now 24 years later
It all seems to be coming back
There is an art to crossing the street
Dodging the motor cyclists, the taxis, the private cars
The bikes and other pedestrians and the buses
The art consists of letting the big guys go first
Then walk between the motorcycles and cyclists
Trusting that they will get out of your way
And they being masters of the Saigon shuffle
Always find a way
In my two visits I was struck
By how it all flows together
Without a central authority
And with almost no planning
Lights or cops
Somehow it just is
And somehow it works
And it is still a mystery to me
24 years after first
Encountering the Saigon shuffle
Coffee Lady
Every morning
I have gone out for Vietnamese coffee
At a sidewalk café
Down the ally from our AIRBNB
The owner is a pleasant middle age woman
Who for some reason likes us
She smiles at us
Greets us in Vietnamese
She does not understand English
Or Korean
And I wonder why
Why was there this connection
Between us
It dawned on me
Perhaps in a prior life
She knew an American or two
And I remind her of someone
Or perhaps she is found
Of Korean K drama
And Angela reminds her
Of her favorite K Drama star
Or perhaps it is both
Or another reason entirely
But I moved today
And will miss her
Might go back for a final cup
Of coffee
To say good bye
To my Vietnamese coffee lady
Mostly Harmless Old Lady in the Alley
There is an old Vietnamese lady
In the neighborhood
Obviously senile
But everyone knows her
And watches over her
To make sure
She stays out of traffic
And out of trouble
She talks to everyone
But no one seems to understand
What she is babbling on about
They smile at her
And she smiles back
Reminds me of the phrase
From the hitchiker’s guide to the galaxy
Mostly harmless
And she for some reason
She likes us
And like my Vietnamese Coffee lady
I wonder why
Why was there this connection
Between us
It dawned on me
Perhaps in a prior life
She knew an American or two
And I remind her of someone
Or perhaps she is found
Of Korean K drama
And Angela reminds her
Of her favorite K Drama star
Or perhaps it is both
Or another reason entirely
But in any event
I look forward
To seeing her smiling face
Every time I walk
Down my ally way
Avoiding the War Due to Two Birthdays
I avoided being drafted
Due to a fluke in my birth certificate
In 1974 the last draft was held
And some people were drafted
But no one went to Vietnam
The war was ending by then
I avoided the draft though
To no effort on my own
My number came up on the draft list
My real birthday was in the zone
But then my mother pointed out
That my legal birthday was different
When I was born at 4 am
The night clerk typed up
My birth certificate
With the wrong date
My father pointed that out
She said
Once I typed it
That is it
His birthday will be
What I typed
Get use to it
My father gave up
And so, 18 years later
That saved me
From the last draft
Never made it to Vietnam
Many years latter
I visited Vietnam
Right after we opened relations
Glad I finally got to see
The country
That so many Americans visited
so many decades ago
Buddha In Vietnam
In Saigon I saw the buddha
Buddha images are everywhere
Temples are scattered about
Here and there and everywhere
Buddha lives on
In the hearts and minds
Of the Vietnamese soul
The communists tried
To get rid of Buddhism
And other religious traditions
But they failed
And Buddhism has come back
Still speaks to the Vietnamese people
A different style
A different vibe
Than Korean Buddhism
But still Buddhist thought
Prevails in the tropical lands
Of the South
Mekong Dreams
Traveling along the Mekong
Back in time
Seeing the river
The people
Imagining life on the river
Imagining the war
The past in the Mekong delta
And the present tourist boom
Yet life goes on
With its own laid back rhythm
As we traversed the river
We were transported back
To an earlier time
Following the ancient rhythms
Of the Mekong Delta
Down and Out in Saigon
Southeast Asia, and Mexico
has always attracted
A certain type of westerner
The down and out
On a down word spiral
Why?
Relatively cheap to live
Lots of part time gigs
Teaching English
Or other things
*****, drugs, ***
Readily available
And cheap
Places to stay
Dirt cheap
And no one needs
To sleep out doors
Easy to disappear
Into the foreigners backpackers ghettos
And escape
From whatever you are running from
The locals are somewhat tolerant
The police usually look the other way
And there are lots of people
In your shoes
I was surprised to find
That Saigon has become
The latest place
For the down and outer crowd
To gather together
In Bangkok one sees them a lot
In Cambodia as well
In the Philippines
In Nepal
And south of the border
In Mexico as well
In India not so much
In Japan and Korea
Just too **** expensive
And too cold to be outdoors
Back in the day
I used to work
The citizen services gig
And saw lots of the down and outer set
The old song comes to mind
No one remembers you
When you are down and out
And in the States
Being down and out
Means living on the mean streets
As it is very difficult
To live with almost no money
And the various side hustles
Don’t give you much money
Unless you are dealing drugs
And teaching ESL
Is not an option
Food is expensive
Transportation is expensive
***** and drugs expensive
Rent is prohibitive
Commercial *** is expensive
And no one loves you
If you are down and out
No one knows your name
You are just another homeless ***
Invisible to all
As you try to make do
Much better to be down and out
In Southeast Asia
Than on the mean streets
Of the USA
Ghosts of Chu Chi
Crawling down the tunnels
Of Chu Chi
I could almost imagine
The Viet Kong guerillas
Hiding deep under the tunnels
As the land above is turned
Into a temporary dessert
With the vegetation burned off
By ****** and agent orange
The Viet Kong creep out at night
Stealing onto the bases
Stealing weapons, food, supplies
And occasionally killing soldiers
In their sleep
The US soldiers
Stay on base at night
Terrified of the mosquitos
And of the Viet Kong
the ghosts
Surround me
Telling me their stories
And at last I fled
Through the emergency escape tunnel
Declaring victory
Profoundly shaken up
By the ghosts of the Chu Chi tunnels
Saigon 2019
Saigon 2019
Vibrant, vivid, exciting
A city on the move
Becoming a world class city
Yet still with a Saigon swagger
Wandering the streets
Dodging the traffic
Admiring the women
Enjoying the food
Saigon enters my heart
And I know that I will be back
This city is growing on me
Reminds me of Korea back in the 1990’s
One hopes that as it develops
It will not become a carbon copy
Of other big Asian cities
Obliterating its past
In search of a false modern image
I hope it can retain
What makes Saigon Saigon
And not become another Gangnam
Hope it does it with Saigon style
And the people will evolve
The country will emerge
And become what it should be
The Paris of the East
This is my vision
Saigon 2019
Saigon 1995
Saigon 1995
In 1995
I was one of the first tourists
Allowed in to Vietnam
To freely wander about
Tourism was at its infancy
And Saigon was chaotic
Wild and crazy
Traffic was insane
There were few tourism sites
Few hotels
Few guest houses
And not too many restaurants
The food was good
We saw the war memorial
The re-unification palace
And the big market
But we felt we were being monitored
Beggars were everywhere
There were scams everywhere
And it was not that pleasant an experience
But Saigon grew up
Became a much more tourist-friendly place
And these problems we encountered
A thing of the place
Saigon is so much better
So much more developed
That it has captured our soul
And we will be back
poems inspired by my second trip to Saigon in 24 years
JV Beaupre May 2016
Then and Now
JV Beaupre
May 2016
Canto I. Long ago and far away...
Under the bridge across the Kankakee River, Grampa found me. I was busted for truancy. First grade. 1946.
Summer and after school: Paper route, neighborhood yard work, dogsbody in a drugstore, measuring houses for the county, fireman EJ&E railroad, janitor and bottling line Pabst Brewery Peoria. 1952-1962.
Fresh caught Mississippi River catfish. Muddy Yummy. Burlington, Iowa. 1959. Best ever.
In college, Fr. ***** usually confused me with my roommate, Al. Except for grades. St. Procopius College, 1958-62. Rats.
Coming home from college for Christmas. Oops, my family moved a few streets over and forgot to tell me. Peoria, 1961.
The Pabst Brewery lunchroom in Peoria, a little after dawn, my first day. A guy came in and said: "Who wants my horsecock sandwich? ****, this first beer tastes good." We never knew how many he drank. 1962.
At grad school, when we moved into the basement with the octopus furnace, Dave, my roommate, contributed a case of Chef Boyardee spaghettios and I brought 3 cases of beer, PBRs. Supper for a month. Ames. 1962.
Sharon and I were making out in the afternoon, clothes a jumble. Walter Cronkite said, " President Kennedy has been shot…”. Ames, 1963.
I stood in line, in my shorts, waiting for the clap-check. The corporal shouted: "All right, you *******, Uncle and the Republic of Viet Nam want your sorry *****. Drop 'em". Des Moines. Deferred, 1964.
Married and living in student housing. Packing crate furniture. Pammel Court, 1966.
One of many undistinguished PhD theses on theoretical physics. Ames. 1967.
He electrified the room. Every woman in the room, regardless of age, wanted him, or seemed to. The atmosphere was primeval and dripping with desire. In the presence of greatness. Palo Alto, 1968.
US science jobs dried up. From a mountain-top, beery conversation, I got a research job in Germany. Boulder, 1968. Aachen, 1969.
The first time I saw automatic weapons at an airport. Geneva, 1970.
I toasted Rembrandt with sparkling wine at the Rijksmuseum. He said nothing. Amsterdam International Conference on Elementary Particles. 1971.
A little drunk, but sobering fast: the guard had Khrushchev teeth.
Midnight, alone, locked in a room at the border.
Hours later, release. East Berlin, 1973. Harrassment.
She said, "You know it's remarkable that we're not having an affair." No, it wasn't. George's wife. Germany, 1973.
"Maybe there really are quarks, but if so, we'll never see them." Truer than I knew. Exit to Huntsville, 1974.
On my first day at work, my first federal felony. As a joke, I impersonated an FBI agent. What the hell? Huntsville. 1974. Guess what?-- No witnesses left! 2021.
Hard work, good times, difficult times. The first years in Huntsville are not fully digested and may stay that way.
The golden Lord Buddha radiated peace with his smile. Pop, pop. Shots in the distance. Bangkok. 1992.
Accomplishment at work, discord at home. Divorce. Huntsville. 1994. I got the dogs.
New beginnings, a fresh start, true love and life-partner. Huntsville. 1995.
Canto II. In the present century...
Should be working on a proposal, but riveted to the TV. The day the towers fell and nearly 4000 people perished. September 11, 2001.
I started painting. Old barns and such. 2004.
We bet on how many dead bodies we would see. None, but lots of flip-flops and a sheep. Secrets of the Yangtze. 2004
I quietly admired a Rembrandt portrait at the Schiphol airport. Ever inscrutable, his painting had presence, even as the bomb dogs sniffed by. Beagles. 2006.
I’ve lost two close friends that I’ve known for 50-odd years. There aren’t many more. Huntsville. 2008 and 2011.
Here's some career advice: On your desk, keep a coffee cup marked, "No Whining", that side out. Third and final retirement. 2015.
I occasionally kick myself for not staying with physics—I’m jealous of friends that did. I moved on, but stayed interested. Continuing.
I’m eighty years old and walk like a duck. 2021.
Letter: "Your insurance has lapsed but for $60,000, it can be reinstated provided you are alive when we receive the premium." Life at 81. Huntsville, 2022.
Canto III: Coda
Honest distortions emerging from the distance of time. The thin comfort of fading memories. Thoughts on poor decisions and worse outcomes. Not often, but every now and then.
(Begun May 2016)
Under the bridge across the Kankakee River, Grampa found me. I was busted for truancy. First grade. 1946.
Summer and after school: Paper route, neighborhood yard work, dogsbody in a drugstore, measuring houses for the county, fireman EJ&E railroad, janitor and bottling line Pabst Brewery Peoria. 1952-1962.
Fresh caught Mississippi River catfish. Muddy Yummy. Burlington, Iowa. 1959. Best ever.
In college, Fr. ***** usually confused me with my roommate, Al. Except for grades. St. Procopius College, 1958-62. Rats.
Coming home from college for Christmas. Oops, my family moved a few streets over and forgot to tell me. Peoria, 1961.
The Pabst Brewery lunchroom in Peoria, a little after dawn, my first day. A guy came in and said: "Who wants my horsecock sandwich? ****, this first beer tastes good." We never knew how many he drank. 1962.
At grad school, when we moved into the basement with the octopus furnace, Dave, my roommate, contributed a case of Chef Boyardee spaghettios and I brought 3 cases of beer, PBRs. Supper for a month. Ames. 1962.
Sharon and I were making out in the afternoon, clothes a jumble. Walter Cronkite said, " President Kennedy has been shot…”. Ames, 1963.
I stood in line, in my shorts, waiting for the clap-check. The corporal shouted: "All right, you *******, Uncle and the Republic of Viet Nam want your sorry *****. Drop 'em". Des Moines. Deferred, 1964.
Married and living in student housing. Packing crate furniture. Pammel Court, 1966.
One of many undistinguished PhD theses on theoretical physics. Ames. 1967.
He electrified the room. Every woman in the room, regardless of age, wanted him, or seemed to. The atmosphere was primeval and dripping with desire. In the presence of greatness. Palo Alto, 1968.
US science jobs dried up. From a mountain-top, beery conversation, I got a research job in Germany. Boulder, 1968. Aachen, 1969.
The first time I saw automatic weapons at an airport. Geneva, 1970.
I toasted Rembrandt with sparkling wine at the Rijksmuseum. He said nothing. Amsterdam International Conference on Elementary Particles. 1971.
A little drunk, but sobering fast: the guard had Khrushchev teeth.
Midnight, alone, locked in a room at the border.
Hours later, release. East Berlin, 1973. Harrassment.
She said, "You know it's remarkable that we're not having an affair." No, it wasn't. George's wife. Germany, 1973.
"Maybe there really are quarks, but if so, we'll never see them." Truer than I knew. Exit to Huntsville, 1974.
On my first day at work, my first federal felony. As a joke, I impersonated an FBI agent. What the hell? Huntsville. 1974. Guess what?-- No witnesses left! 2021.
Hard work, good times, difficult times. The first years in Huntsville are not fully digested and may stay that way.
The golden Lord Buddha radiated peace with his smile. Pop, pop. Shots in the distance. Bangkok. 1992.
Accomplishment at work, discord at home. Divorce. Huntsville. 1994. I got the dogs.
New beginnings, a fresh start, true love and life-partner. Huntsville. 1995.
Canto II. In the present century...
Should be working on a proposal, but riveted to the TV. The day the towers fell and nearly 4000 people perished. September 11, 2001.
I started painting. Old barns and such. 2004.
We bet on how many dead bodies we would see. None, but lots of flip-flops and a sheep. Secrets of the Yangtze. 2004
I quietly admired a Rembrandt portrait at the Schiphol airport. Ever inscrutable, his painting had presence, even as the bomb dogs sniffed by. Beagles. 2006.
I’ve lost two close friends that I’ve known for 50-odd years. There aren’t many more. Huntsville. 2008 and 2011.
Here's some career advice: On your desk, keep a coffee cup marked, "No Whining", that side out. Third and final retirement. 2015.
I occasionally kick myself for not staying with physics—I’m jealous of friends that did. I moved on, but stayed interested. Continuing.
I’m eighty years old and walk like a duck. 2021.
Letter: "Your insurance has lapsed but for $60,000, it can be reinstated provided you are alive when we receive the premium." Life at 81. Huntsville, 2022.
Canto III: Coda
Honest distortions emerging from the distance of time. The thin comfort of fading memories. Thoughts on poor decisions and worse outcomes. Not often, but every now and then.
(Begun May 2016)
Lawrence Hall
Oct 15
Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com
“My Grandpa was in Viet-Nam –
Maybe You Knew Him There?”
I wear an amazon.com Viet-Nam boonie hat
USA mil specs made in Indonesia
Mostly in hopes of getting out of a traffic ticket
And because I meet the most interesting people
Sometimes pretty girls approach and speak to me
At first it was, “My brother was in Viet-Nam”
And then they said, “My father was in Viet-Nam”
And now, “My grandpa was in Viet-Nam
Maybe you knew him?
Oh, and let me get the door for you, sir”
Makes me wanna rattle my aluminum walker
Mhall46184@aol.com
“My Grandpa was in Viet-Nam –
Maybe You Knew Him There?”
I wear an amazon.com Viet-Nam boonie hat
USA mil specs made in Indonesia
Mostly in hopes of getting out of a traffic ticket
And because I meet the most interesting people
Sometimes pretty girls approach and speak to me
At first it was, “My brother was in Viet-Nam”
And then they said, “My father was in Viet-Nam”
And now, “My grandpa was in Viet-Nam
Maybe you knew him?
Oh, and let me get the door for you, sir”
Makes me wanna rattle my aluminum walker