the ville was just women,
old men, young children--mostly gaunt ghosts
before my platoon arrived with our own dead
men walking
I gave the order to burn the village,
rout its dazed denizens and grease any
who offered resistance
only one woman did, clawing
at my boys like a crazed cat, going after Freddie
from Fresno with a bamboo stalk
I don't know who shot her
but I remember standing over her
with Freddie and Mickey from Milwaukee
who stepped on a mine within the hour
Freddie bought it too, but not until
that night, when small arms fire from the jungle
woke us from our dread dreams
the apparitions that haunted our heads
whenever we spilled the blood of innocents
or even the red devils' kin--perhaps
an equivalent sin
the next day we ****** back
to base camp, a twelve click hike;
as hours passed, and the earth dried,
our shadows became sharper, darkening
reminders we could run
but never hide
