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Poem

RECON

We push noisily through the brush
and then hear the challenging voices;
two grenades should pave our way
to make a charge while firing rifles.

Dusk preludes and we see the strobe
flashing of far too many muzzles;
Nguyen takes his hard slapping hit
I trip and fall weapon beneath me.

With no other choice the team retreats,
when too small to fight we tend to flee,
eight rifles won’t give much voice;
with these odds running is healthy.

Voices roam as NVA begin their search
chatting as they hunt for our bodies;
so very tense I try not to breathe
feeling their footsteps brush by me.

Poor Nguyen’s body they quickly find,
but they will need to search for more,
two grenades means more bodies;
with darkness their search turns futile.

Footsteps surround as I slip along
sliding silently on my stomach;
all through the night this is my flight
as I avoid becoming another statistic.

A bad walk like this in Vietnam 
means I most likely would vanish;
unless I continued to strive and slide
suppress fear and commit to survive.

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