Phil

2 a.m. December 1

 

Me and Gunther have guard duty in the
tower, a mini-hooch without the screen.

 

A 20-foot high platform,
Permanent Target Duty.

 

Thunk! Thunk! Thunk!

 

Mortars propel from some gook hooch.
I’ve got my buddy Blooper, an M-79 grenade launcher,
like a large bore, single barrel, sawn-off shotgun.

 

Our Xmas toys light up everything, moving or not.
M-18 Claymore mines—front toward enemy—
steel ball bearing shrapnel. Fugas. Trip flares.
Illumination flares, mini-chutes raining light.
Tracer rounds, ribbons of chrome-orange metal.

 

Hueys roll in.
Fighter pilots in helmets, shorts, zoris.
Annihilate the place. Rat-a-tat-tat.

 

Chaos.
Silent night, holy night.
Destruction.
All is calm, all is bright.
Extermination.
Sleep in heavenly peace.

 

Bits of beauty everywhere.