Immoral War
Blinded and limbless, I represent
the hundreds of thousands young men sent
to fight in another country’s war
on rough terrain never seen before.
Our country called and we asked not why
nor for whom we were going forth to die.
Death would be relief to the awful pain
of reliving the battles in mind again.
They all looked alike and we couldn’t know
just who was our ally and who the foe,
until we stepped on the hidden mine
or tripped on the detonating line.
The “Hueys” that came for the dead or dying
were shot down sometimes as they started flying.
Rescuers as brave, as they took to air,
as the weary soldiers they left out there.
You'll find us today in a VA hall
or dressed in a camouflage coverall,
living in cities that turn us away
as useless potheads, despised today.
Copyright © Joyce Johnson | Year Posted 2011
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