In Washington there's bugger-all
to lure me down from Montreal.
And yet, when it was done I came
to tell and touch and trace your name,
to taste the wormwood and the gall.
The Tet Offensive saw you fall
near Hoc Mon Bridge. Still maggots crawl
and feast and life is much the same
It's strange the things I best recall —
you hated Ringo, I loved Paul.
You dreamed you'd pitch the perfect game
like Koufax. What a bloody shame.
I weep beside this granite wall
YOU ARE READING
Coming to TermsPoetry
This is my ten-form poetry submission to the first annual ATTYS competition. All ten poems are related to the process of coming to terms with different life situations: a miscarriage, the death of a loved one in the Vietnam war; a political abductio...