It was nineteen sixty eight
and I was six years old.
My mother and I had driven
for what seemed to me all day.
We kept the windows down
because it was hot
I watched dust clouds
chasing the old car.
On the Am radio the news.
Ten more American soldiers died
in Vietnam.
I thought of war
like a six year old.
Watched John Wayne
more than once.
I wanted to be like him.
I would go fight
when I was old enough.
I had already shot
my father's rifle.
He had served in Korea,
but never said a word.
My Grandfather wheezed
and coughed form Mustard gas.
He had fought, but said nothing.
The car rambled down the old road
All the way to the Yakima firing range
where they were building a bridge
that my father was working on.
I asked my mother if this was where
the soldiers fight. Half listening
she simply said yes.
I began looking for the war,
but all I seen was sage.
I wanted to see those John Waynes
killing those yellow men.
But all I saw was sand and sage.
So I learned the first lesson in war,
that is is never what we expect.
Author notes
Yakima Firing Range is a military outpost used for artillary etc.
In a list
A contest entry
- The Truth About War by paper-angel.
550 points, ended May 28, 20 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Comments
-
I love reliving your life as a small boy with you. The war image is so sad. It makes me think; why? Just why? Well done!
Love,
Amera
-
True, war never really is what we expect. Especially Vietnam, a war completely different from any other war that the United States had faced. I'm glad that you in cooperated the war that was involved with "The Things They Carried."
About the poem:
- I really liked how you used imagery to present a scene.
"We kept the windows down
because it was hot
I watched dust clouds
chasing the old car."
-I also liked the comparisons you made, about yourself and also your family members...
"I thought of war
like a six year old."
All in all good write
-Thank you for your entry, Angi Terese -
Irony of Sage...
The truth spoken softly but with impact...loved how you mentioned how those that fought didn't say anything. This makes me think about my own father who never, ever wanted to talk about it and in fact would get uncomfortable when the subject was raised. It was only near the end of his life he opened up a bit and told me of the horrors of some of the things that had haunted him for years.
You didn't mention your own service, is that because the poem was set in 1968? Perhaps a "part two" is forthcoming, like a flash forward forty years to 2008 and your perspective now?
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War is indeed never what we expect and so often we can't even imagine what comes with it. A lovely piece of writing that touches on such a relevant topic. I really liked this snapshot as seen through the eyes of a child.
~ Nicolette
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