((A Short Poetic Prose Tale) (a true account while in Vietnam, 1971))
The heavily
armed Vietnamese village was somewhat dug in, not far
from our base camp and the South China
Sea—
It was a
cloud-muffled moon evening that slightly lit the night sky;
I had snuck
in—a hundred rifles, a few machineguns waiting,
should I show my Caucasian Irish face—,
I’d leave in the Morning: I had just snuck in for the fun of it, to see if I
could, and
have a night of it, to perk up my
adrenaline.
Not a wise
decision—yet silently I jumped the high barbwire fence
It all
mattered on timing.
The Vietcong
ruled the village by night, the South Vietnamese Army
by day…it was always that way.
This evening
the Vietcong was everywhere—
However, this
was not the real danger, so I felt, it was the guard
towers in the morning I’d have to
overcome—
Manned by our
friendly Vietnamese, not the enemy, but they could
and most likely would, mistake me as an
enemy, an infiltration
Party, armed
to kill—or shoot me just for a thrill—it was not
uncommon; actually they’d simple be lost
to think otherwise.
The ground
was soft in the morning dew, even pressing up against
the high barbwire fence—at the cue of
the moon disappearing: The grey morning lifting; hence, I reached the edge of
the top:
“Don’t move,”
my mind whispered, and froze half bent over the
prickly fence—
I must have
blended into the moment, the guard’s eye, in the tower
nearby, not irritated with my slow
sequences, did not catch my
Movements—thus,
I rolled over the prickly top of the fence, and
once I landed on the soft ground, I left
no shadow as daylight
Broke…
I must have
been in those far-off days, a cat with nine lives, or else
God was saving me to write the poetic
tale…!
#4004 (April 2 & 3, 2013)
