My Lai
On the 16th day of the 3rd month of my sunniest year
the other side of the world was a cold gray river
splashing boots
soldiers slashing
an 300 unarmed peasants
but I was in the 24th year of a warm spring glow
wearing mini-
skirt and stylish boots
reading romances old as Camelot.
In my countless young days,
what did I care for massacres on the far side
of an earth that was my own, untouched
and ivory
the polished bone of untold
generations singing ancient songs
from towers of smashing silver knights
for ladies
of a lai’s romance
so many years ago without number.
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