Yankee Papa Thirteen
it was like being inside a big machine that wants
to be noisy and disrupt your senses
and the blades whirred at speeds I could'nt see,
over the rice fields and boots of the dead and
the cartidge-case stairs thumped their tattoo down
to the heart of the Viet Cong (who were they?)
guys just like us...
and the explosion rocked the machine and bits of brain
and a pool(blood) crept past our feet...
and dripped to the water and fields below
and he was shouting something important but i could'nt
hear, I could'nt hear...the fear had got my throat...the fear,
Jesus I'm sorry but I just could'nt hear...
and everything was going haywire and guys were dying
and it had all gone wrong... not the way it was meant to be
and who were they who had done this blunderbus work,
mouths agape shooting into the sun?
they were guys,they were guys... just like us
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
