I Killed a Guy
I killed a guy exclamation point!
I probably killed a second guy 2
but not really sure so I won't say
I killed 2 guys. Better to know.
Saying straight out I killed a guy
makes it easier for me to look back,
look back, at the time I killed a guy.
People were running in the streets
screaming "Bring the troops home."
I was in a bunker screaming too,
"I want to go home tonight."
Damn it but I hated those flares
falling so fucking fast out of the sky.
I wanted them to last forever.
I wanted a spotlight of my own.
I wanted to be farther, much farther
from the wire, from the perimeter,
farther from here, farther from God.
Then all that quiet quit and the thinking
stopped and the shooting started and
the noise was deafening and the M60
started jamming and I was there alone.
And then he was there in front of me,
looking at me directly looking at me
his eyes could see into my heart so
I shot him as long as I could with my
finger hard on the trigger. He fell.
Another guy ran at me so I fired
and fired and fired and there was
that awful sound against sandbags,
I ducked. I stayed ducked for awhile.
If I had had a nuclear bomb then,
I would have shot it off too. If
that first guy had been alive, I-
I would have eaten his eyes raw.
My blood was boiling, I was mad.
I was certifiably insane, and then,
quiet started again. I was alive.
by Contributing Poet Paul M. Strohm Copyright © 2016
VWP 2016 First published in VietnamWarPoetry.com
I Cried
I cried
sitting cross legged on the ground
my weapon in my lap, my helmet off
all jagged edges inside
hormonal perhaps, perhaps stress
I am sure there was noise
there must have been sounds
I don’t think I heard a thing
other guys moving around
some in pain, yelling, screaming
surely some sergeant was shouting
policing of weapons, etc.
checking gooks for intelligence
there must have been laughter
guys were always kidding around
I think I heard a chopper, maybe not
Scalise wouldn't need a medevac
He wouldn't need anything ever
His limbs at a weird angle
such a good kid, my buddy
seemed perfectly content there
sprawled out on the ground
swirls of dust, a dead place
holding him
I cried
not for Scalise, not for him
I cried-
by Contributing Poet Paul M. Strohm Copyright © 2016
VWP 2016 First published in VietnamWarPoetry.com
I Spared His Parents That
His eyes began to blank
His grip slackened
His voice failed
I looked around for help
I was out of my depth
I had lost interest
His body went limp
His skin had a greenish tint
The sucking sounds stopped
I pulled his body closer
I stared into his blankness
I was scared
We were soldier friends
I told him things only he knew
He died horribly
I spared his parents that.
by Contributing Poet Paul M. Strohm Copyright © 2016
VWP 2016 First published in VietnamWarPoetry.com
My Last Chopper Out
my final up and in and down
no faces to explore
no last good-byes to say
some grunt pushes in
move over, share the floor
"I'm out of here!" no more
a whirligig of dust and grass
thumping hearts and chopper blades
staring out the gunner's door
everything comes to its end
11 months and a few days
an hour more or less
there's no one here I know
buddies coming in
strangers going out
new worries to encounter
other villages to be explored
long walks holding hands
things to be unlearnt again
all the shit not to say
just keep breathing
my last chopper out
by Contributing Poet Paul M. Strohm Copyright © 2016
VWP 2016 First published in VietnamWarPoetry.com
We Both Have Put on Weight
You were barely 6ft tall
sweat soaked 150 pounds
how heavy you felt to me
you gurgled from the throat
I pounded on your chest
your flow of blood refused to stop
I put my index finger in the hole
your eyes went wild and crazy
so I pressed a bandage on
your legs stirred up a dust storm
wasn't much more I could do
I didn't bother with your weapon
I left it on the ground
couching low I hefted us up
you made a noise I'll not forget
my groan was well deserved
40 yards to the hilltop
I cussed each lousy step
you wanted down
I didn't give a fuck
one more step, just one
I would have dropped you
yes I damn well would
we made it back okay
you became an adjuster
I bought a used bookstore
we both have put on weight
by Contributing Poet Paul M. Strohm Copyright © 2016
VWP 2016 First published in VietnamWarPoetry.com
I killed a guy exclamation point!
I probably killed a second guy 2
but not really sure so I won't say
I killed 2 guys. Better to know.
Saying straight out I killed a guy
makes it easier for me to look back,
look back, at the time I killed a guy.
People were running in the streets
screaming "Bring the troops home."
I was in a bunker screaming too,
"I want to go home tonight."
Damn it but I hated those flares
falling so fucking fast out of the sky.
I wanted them to last forever.
I wanted a spotlight of my own.
I wanted to be farther, much farther
from the wire, from the perimeter,
farther from here, farther from God.
Then all that quiet quit and the thinking
stopped and the shooting started and
the noise was deafening and the M60
started jamming and I was there alone.
And then he was there in front of me,
looking at me directly looking at me
his eyes could see into my heart so
I shot him as long as I could with my
finger hard on the trigger. He fell.
Another guy ran at me so I fired
and fired and fired and there was
that awful sound against sandbags,
I ducked. I stayed ducked for awhile.
If I had had a nuclear bomb then,
I would have shot it off too. If
that first guy had been alive, I-
I would have eaten his eyes raw.
My blood was boiling, I was mad.
I was certifiably insane, and then,
quiet started again. I was alive.
by Contributing Poet Paul M. Strohm Copyright © 2016
VWP 2016 First published in VietnamWarPoetry.com
I Cried
I cried
sitting cross legged on the ground
my weapon in my lap, my helmet off
all jagged edges inside
hormonal perhaps, perhaps stress
I am sure there was noise
there must have been sounds
I don’t think I heard a thing
other guys moving around
some in pain, yelling, screaming
surely some sergeant was shouting
policing of weapons, etc.
checking gooks for intelligence
there must have been laughter
guys were always kidding around
I think I heard a chopper, maybe not
Scalise wouldn't need a medevac
He wouldn't need anything ever
His limbs at a weird angle
such a good kid, my buddy
seemed perfectly content there
sprawled out on the ground
swirls of dust, a dead place
holding him
I cried
not for Scalise, not for him
I cried-
by Contributing Poet Paul M. Strohm Copyright © 2016
VWP 2016 First published in VietnamWarPoetry.com
I Spared His Parents That
His eyes began to blank
His grip slackened
His voice failed
I looked around for help
I was out of my depth
I had lost interest
His body went limp
His skin had a greenish tint
The sucking sounds stopped
I pulled his body closer
I stared into his blankness
I was scared
We were soldier friends
I told him things only he knew
He died horribly
I spared his parents that.
by Contributing Poet Paul M. Strohm Copyright © 2016
VWP 2016 First published in VietnamWarPoetry.com
My Last Chopper Out
my final up and in and down
no faces to explore
no last good-byes to say
some grunt pushes in
move over, share the floor
"I'm out of here!" no more
a whirligig of dust and grass
thumping hearts and chopper blades
staring out the gunner's door
everything comes to its end
11 months and a few days
an hour more or less
there's no one here I know
buddies coming in
strangers going out
new worries to encounter
other villages to be explored
long walks holding hands
things to be unlearnt again
all the shit not to say
just keep breathing
my last chopper out
by Contributing Poet Paul M. Strohm Copyright © 2016
VWP 2016 First published in VietnamWarPoetry.com
We Both Have Put on Weight
You were barely 6ft tall
sweat soaked 150 pounds
how heavy you felt to me
you gurgled from the throat
I pounded on your chest
your flow of blood refused to stop
I put my index finger in the hole
your eyes went wild and crazy
so I pressed a bandage on
your legs stirred up a dust storm
wasn't much more I could do
I didn't bother with your weapon
I left it on the ground
couching low I hefted us up
you made a noise I'll not forget
my groan was well deserved
40 yards to the hilltop
I cussed each lousy step
you wanted down
I didn't give a fuck
one more step, just one
I would have dropped you
yes I damn well would
we made it back okay
you became an adjuster
I bought a used bookstore
we both have put on weight
by Contributing Poet Paul M. Strohm Copyright © 2016
VWP 2016 First published in VietnamWarPoetry.com
Bio: Paul M. Strohm is a freelance journalist working in Houston, Texas.
His poems have appeared in HuKmag.com, the Berkeley Poets Cooperative,
The Lake, WiND and other literary outlets.
His first collection of poems entitled Closed On Sunday was published in 2014
by the Wellhead Press.
U.S. Army 1968-1971.
His poems have appeared in HuKmag.com, the Berkeley Poets Cooperative,
The Lake, WiND and other literary outlets.
His first collection of poems entitled Closed On Sunday was published in 2014
by the Wellhead Press.
U.S. Army 1968-1971.
Except where otherwise attributed, all pages & content herein
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Westerly, Rhode Island, USA