Six Months Then a Year



Six months of jungle

  warfare training.

By July, 

  assigned Vietnam.


The future looks bleak,

  even in February,

where a jungle is sunny and warm.


Six months.  Six months.

  They drag on a year.

The future looks bleak,

  and we are still here.


Six months.  Six months.

  It feels like a year.

The future is bleak,

  grimful with fear.


Drugs fool it out.

  It helps to forget.

Drugs help you think

  you’re not here.


A shadow usually

  falls close behind.

But this one

  is somewhere out there.


Six months.  Six months.

  Seems like a life time.

Six months

  and we are still here.


Stuck like a record,

  turning a life line;

shorter, each day

  draws us near.


And Bruno is back.

  Pulled back.  Reprieved.

From Nam,

  he’s pulled back to here.


He’s done with his tour

  and he’s six months more.

Then out!

  and back home, evermore.


But he’s showing

  his damage,

that fighting will do –

  not out here,

but somewhere up there.


Six months.  Six months.

  That’s all he’s got.

Six months,

  to go,

and he’s done.


But he goes home on leave –

  an emergency leave.

Someone has died,

  not of war.


And he flies back to home,

  but then, on he goes,

to Canada,

  and he’s gone,



Six months.  Six months.

  That’s all he had left.

Six months

  and then no more war.


Six months.  Six months.

  Drags on for a year.

It’s six months, to war,

  and we’re here.


And he never returns.

  No he never returned.

Bruno, he just



Six months.  Six months.

  Six months in sight,

and the drugs

  are the reason

we’re here.




revised 10 May 2013

©2013, Marvin Loyd Welborn


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