Another long afternoon,
an aging GI stretches along a chaise lounge
on a wooden deck above a meadow
somewhere in the Rockies,
ice cubes melting in a tall glass of Scotch,
his trance held captive by wordless snowcaps
where his hopes used to climb
Another long afternoon,
an old VC wearing a long sharp beard
squats against a tree
inhaling deeply from a bong,
head bowed to grassless ground
outside a hooch by a rice paddy
near Cu Chi, South Vietnam
Each vaguely recalls
being a boy,
one before the Vietnam War,
the other before the American War,
each sucking on a peace agreement
of his own making
In 1969 neither one knew history
would paint this portrait of two enemies
bleeding to death so slowly in the same way