SMOKIN

May passion keep its flame
For things creative and artistic,
Care and humble, in a barbaric world
As we are invaders, outlaws
Plowing across Vietnam
Trampling their way of life
Leaving behind widows and orphans
Coming here at eighteen a
Newbie knowing nothing of war
Learning quickly I should have
Went to college or caught the
First train smokin to Canada
Rather than let my government
Put me in harms way for money
And businesses we peons will
Never receive one dividend tonight
There is a battle raging in the valley
I am standing guard with two men
At a bunker on side of a mountain
Soldiers are resting inside
The fly boys are carrying the fight
Explosions in the night sky like
Fire works I step into the bunker
My relief is late the smell of reefer
Pirouettes through the air
A negro soldier walks over to me
Gives me a make shift pipe
Made out of a soda can
Places a white cube on the bowl
Then strikes a lighter, “Hit this”
I hold in smoke then exhale a cloud
Sounds become sharper heart pounding
“What was that?” He says, “Crack”
I return to my post and walk the
Perimeter every sensation is more acute
I think of my older sister
Who got me a fake I.D.
On my seventeenth birthday
To go clubbing with her girlfriends
I stepped into a red haze
Of sexual tension working
Young adults lust and morality
Tomorrow we will be in the
Valley using bayonets against
The enemy, eye to eye, hand to throat,
Very aware of our mortality
And that our sovereign country
Sold us out a low price.

Arnal Kennedy