most of my tour with 5th of the 60th, 9th Inf Div, working out of Binh Phouc and
Tan An South, in 68 and 69. Seems almost like I can't remember sometimes and
other times it comes to me in waves. Swells of pictures stuck in my mind, and
smells that can still make my stomach churn, burnt out and broke down at 19
years old, coming home to a country where I can't buy a beer and am too young to
vote. High school friends that won't have anything to do with me like I've done
something wrong, as they worry about gas money and I can't sleep at night
because the pictures won't go away. Wearing the flag on their back pocket or as
curtains in their van, the same flag that they wrapped Michael Teassaro in to
bring him home, the same flag they gave to George Flohr's mom and sister, the
same flag we carried in our ruck to post at ndp's* and base camps. They've mostly forgotten about us or wished
us away. Sometimes I just want to die.............or wish I would have.
Sometimes I think I have to live forever to keep the memory alive for the next
generation.....sometimes ma'am, its just too fuckin' hard.....
night defensive positions
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