James C. Taylor

REFLECTION ON THE VIETNAM WAR

Neighborhood basketball, and football,
Suburban Park, high school buddies gone.

Donnie could always out-shoot me and
Win. Thought it was amazing I could
Make a shot at all: I scrambled around
And “never looked at the basket.”

Henry, oxen strong, rescued me from
Being overmatched football guard
In face, of new south, integration game.
I male-teenaged yelled, stomped, agreed;

Henry stampeded the field; blew open,
Hole big as Texas—tail back blasted through.

Donnie died in a burned out tank.
Henry was wounded; He died over there.
John, my brother, came back from the
Navy, after several battles off shore.

John can’t go by the Vietnam memorial:
He says it’s still too painful.