Wednesday, April 3, 2013
((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
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
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)