Colin F. Jones
THE VIET CONG
He glares with sunken eyes in pallid face,
The hate like lasers from those sockets deep,
Leaving in his looks no human trace,
That might yet be restored by restful sleep;
Into my eyes with pain and passion hued,
Meeting his inimical gaze with steady stare,
And to his inner hurt and anguished glued,
But there was no compassion residing there.
Across his chest, five times and down his sides
Zippered welts held his inner parts at bay,
Purple-blue and reddish lines so wide,
How life remained inside was hard to say.
Still I see and feel those hateful eyes
For still I am the man that they despised.
©Copyright August 2000 by Colin F. Jones