We're the hollow men.
Humping the boonies.
Patrol.Ambush.Camp.Dust-off.Repeat.
No penicillin, morphine, clean water.
Lots of reefer. Lots of time.
No sign of Charlie, not yet.
Dawn patrol, three men, three joints.
Snakes, lizards, birds watch us toke, walk.
Napalm aroma carried on a tropic zephyr.
We shunt it out with MaryJane,
Go back to Bama, Georgia, Tennessee.
Dream of girls, parents, football Saturdays.
Three months left, three months too many.
Sleep shivers, too nervous to even pee straight.
Map lost again, but no sign of Charlie.
A clearing, contrails form three crosses overhead.
Wounded water buffalo staked in the glade center.
Huey sits down beside it, camera guy snapping.
He waves us over, we climb in, fly home.
My feet are warm, when did I get shot?
No sign of Charlie, Momma is on the porch.
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