I am in Vietnam–who will console me?
I am terrified of bombs, of cold wet leaves and bamboo splinters in my feet, of a bullet cracking through the trees, across the world, killing me–there is a bullet in my brain, behind my eyes, so that all I see is pain I am in vietnam–who will console me? from the sixoclock news, from the headlines lurking on the street, between the angry love songs on the radio, from the frightened hawks and angry doves I meet a war I will not fight is killing me–I am in vietnam, who will console me?
Stop the Bombing