Viet Nam

He dreams day dreams of horror. He could be anywhere, But in his mind he’s instantly Back inside that village there. He hears those jungle sounds Again and again and again, Just one of that platoon of Tired and frightened men. He smells again that smell; Napalm that kisses and clings, Turning living feeling bodies Into writhing screaming things. He senses again the movement At the very edge of his sight That sends his reflex fire out Into the dawn’s breaking light. He sees once again the shock And pain on that child’s face And then his mind in horror Drags him back from that place, And he awaits his next visit With anguish and despair. He can’t run from daydreams Trapped in his invalid’s chair