1969 Was a Sad Year

1969 was a sad year for those aware of Viet Nam We were seventeen and eighteen It was in the news but what did it have to do with us? Our love was intense He wore white jeans that made me wild He knew it, so he wore them often Driving me crazy Nothing else mattered, nothing else mattered We thought no one knew our secret look Others gave us our illusion His draft number was thirty-six He found a loophole I begged him to use it. It was daring. On Christmas week his number went to number 1. Only for a week, then he would get a new number, way back in the two hundreds Our love was intense He wanted to please me Driving his folks crazy A phone call came on Christmas Day He had to go; they had pulled his card. I felt awful. Our love was intense. Vietnam was real now He wanted more now before he left. I was wild but not that wild. This was the Bible belt Small town America His pleas were driving me crazy At the airport we could not keep our hands off each other. I told him we could do the things he wanted when he returned. But he did not last two weeks. He was killed in a jungle We did not even care about My heart blew up in the landmine with his Driving me crazy I wish I had done things differently I would like to see those white jeans again