MY LAI
Hot summer Sunday,
between the band and
fez-topped Shriners,
ashamedly proud I march.
Fat -fisted cherubs line
the curbs, flags waving.
Sepia newsreel in my head,
disjointed,
villagers herded, wide-eyed,
wet-faced.
Thin brown arms hold babies.
Rifle jerks me back,
sepia dissolves to color,
blood roses bloom,
petals at my feet.
