There was another life of cool summer mornings, the dogwood air and the slag stink so gray like our monsoon which we loved for the rain and cool wind until the rot came into us. And I remember the boys we were the evening of our departure, our mothers waving through the train’s black pluming exhaust; they were not proud in their tears of our leaving, so don’t tell me to shut up about the war or I might pull something from my head, from my head, from my head that you wouldn’t want to see and whoever the people are might be offended. …
Bruce Weigl
That night we drank warm whiskey …
Because this evening Miss Hoang Yen …
Never mind what you think. …
I watch the woods for deer as if I’m armed. …
After the storm, after the rain stopped pounding, …
A boy who knew enough to save for something …
When he was my age and I was already a boy …