(untitled) 

    The firing broke out
          just as my squad reached the edge
          of a long-abandoned ville.
   
    My adrenal gland
          red-lined as we rushed in
          to close with the enemy.
   
    Suddenly a man jumped up
          to my right and ran
          between some collapsing hootches.
   
    As I ran after him
          I yelled out to my fire team
          "I've got a gook over here!"
   
    In the center of the ville
          he crossed a clear area
          and jumped behind a pile of rubble.
   
    I shot at him
          but I missed.
   
    I wasn't crossing that clear area
          to get to him
          and I couldn't shoot him from where I was.
   
    I reached into the old Claymore bag
          I carried across my shoulder
          and pulled out a hand grenade.
   
    I pulled the pin,
          let the spoon fly
          and tossed the frag over the pile.
   
    The explosion sounded wonderful
          and the short scream that
          followed was the best thing
          I'd heard all day.
   
    In the moment of silence
          that followed I realized
          all the firing in the ville had ceased.
   
    Then from behind the pile of rubble
          came a horrible screeching.
   
    I approached the pile from the flank
          with my rifle up and ready.
   
    There lay a very dead gook
          and a horribly wounded dog.
          I shot it right away.
   
    As I bent down to search the body of my enemy,
          with tears in my eyes
          I asked God to forgive me.
   
    I hadn't meant to hurt the dog.

---

copyright © 1992 by John Musgrave, from his book "On Snipers, Laughter and Death: Vietnam Poems," all rights reserved.

---

Back

---