While Transporting Motorcycles in Vietnam

1 min

74-year old grandfather. Served with IVS, Vietnam, 1968-69 in II Corps/III Corps. Police-fire-court reporter for Holyoke (MA) Transcript. Editor for GTE NW "Newsworthy" paper. PA Officer (DAE) fo  [+]

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I wedge myself between the Hondas,
Giving up my place to him,
Moving slowly and with help.
Pant legs slashed to bloody ribbons,
Flopping rust-colored at his ankles,
Like the assault lines of the chopper
Hovering above the paddy,
Trembling like a gut-shot deer.
Lurching along the road in second,
Fearful of a broken axle,
The firefight fades behind us
While he rocks there – grim but silent.
And when the medics ease him out,
In the dimple of the seat,
Red dust, red blood mix together,
Congealing in the jungle heat.

A few words for the author? Comment below. 3 comments

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Marc OBrien · ago
Let the words do the fighting and the fighting do the writing
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Mountain Nose · ago
Prithvijeet -- You are correct. War is a brand burned into the soul and a madness challenging your concepts of reality. Thank you for the kind words.
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Prithvijeet Sinha · ago
Your account of the Vietnam War in this capsule of a poetic gem is hard hitting and reminds us of the war that continues to haunt us till date.

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