Another warm, sleepy day for daydreams.
Carrying hammer, fencing pliers, wire -
Bluejeans yellow with orchardgrass pollen -
I stroll toward the broken fence.
The herd lies by the hedgerow,
Shaded from the summer sun -
Jaws moving in slow, peaceful ecstasy.
Buzz of flies - the occasional flick of ear,
Blink of eye, twitch of tail.
High in the hickory, a male redwing watches nervously.
As I approach his nest,
The warning "chuck" changes to a shriek
And he leaps from his perch;
Diving, hovering, screaming -
"My family! My territory! Get out! Look out!"
A tiny black defender,
Red shoulder patches on flailing wings
Flashing like fire.......................
"CHARLIE ON THE WIRE!"
High over the post, the mortar watch circles endlessly.
At the first sign of attack,
The soft "chuckle" changes to a snarl
And he falls from the sky;
Diving, hovering, screaming -
"My family! My territory! Get out! Look out!"
A deadly green Cobra,
Weapons pods on stubby wings
Flashing fire.
Grabbing helmet, flak vest, weapon -
Jungle fatigues red with Quan Loi clay -
I rush to the fighting bunker.
VC Maneuver across the green line,
Silhouetted by star-cluster flares -
Wounded writhing in screaming, painful agony.
Howl of Cobras - the continual belch of mini-gun,
Crack of cannon, roar of rocket.
Another hot, sleepless night of nightmares.
I stumble back to the barn - sobbing and shaken.
Dave King, Quan Loi, 1969