by

Robert H. Dirr Jr.

Back in the days when search and destroy
Became search and avoid, and bad things
Grew out of the ground and fell all around,
I met a village kid named Tran Me Luk.

His constant Howdy Doody grin and habit
Of following us about got on the nerves
Of my friends, but that was to be expected,
For he had sloping eyes and yellow skin.

He patched our clothes, cleaned our boots
And filled canteens with water, and at times
Brought us bootleg whiskey, beer and a
Carton or two of American cigarettes.

While on patrol one Sunday morning
In a sloppy paddy we were ambushed.
Some guy lost a thumb and I put it inside
His left shirt pocket for safe keeping.

I turned around and there stood Tran
With a weapon bigger than he was,
And the opium-drugged Howdy Doody
Sighted an AK-47 from his nose to mine.

When our eyes recognized each other
The guy with the thumb in his pocket
Emptied a magazine into Tran's chest,
And Luke-The-Gook fell backwards.

The buck-toothed grin swelled to a laugh
And his eyes were staring through me,
Like they do every night. Sometimes, I want
To shoot him again, for he's still not dead.

� Copyright 1997, All Rights Reserved