Fellow soldiers, I write to you as a fly on the wall
from the office of the general of the 25th Division
in Cu Chi, South Vietnam
After the Korea flop, majors, colonels, generals,
the Pentagon, defense contractors, secretaries of state,
were desperate for another war to prove themselves
They yanked me out of graduate school to fight
for their personal gain, prestige and power,
to test their latest war toys and strategies
Career officers hurry daily in and out of these rooms
to kiss the ass of the commanding general,
swing custom-made six shooters from cowboy belts:
braggadocios telling war stories of their own gallantry,
the battles they flew over while their troops crawled
through the mud and snow of the 38th Parallel
They know a lot about dropping soda bottles from planes
that whistle on their way down to intimidate peasants,
how to get the most out of captives by pushing them
one by one out of helicopters; how to threaten village chiefs
with raping their granddaughters; by torching whole villages
to warn them against hiding Viet Cong
They do not know that I, a simple corporal typing reports,
will remember every detail, every lie, every exaggeration,
that in the privacy of this place they only talk about
themselves, their exploits, their next promotions –
And that I never hear them talk about you
Mailed To General Delivery,
One day in July, 1969