OPERATION CROP MANAGEMENT

And over there, in Vietnam,
they put me on a track.
“Drive right across those
rice paddies” I was told.
“Level that village.
Kill what you find.”

I looked across the paddies
and saw grandma,
toothlessly clucking to her chicks.
I saw mama-san getting ready
to transplant her seedlings.
Water buffalo standing by; pig tied to
small tree. And they were telling me
to destroy that farm,
demolish the crop, kill the livestock.
Leave those folks with nothing to eat
and no way to grow more.

So I drove that track
over the rice, up to the water buffalo,
dropped it with a few squeezes of
my M-16, scattered the chickens,
liberated the pig. Apologized
for wiping out their livelihood
and went back to base camp
where a hot meal of bacon and eggs
was waiting, which I didn’t eat
and haven’t eaten since.

And every time I look out my window
at fields of grain, I feel sick
all over again.
I’ve tried to find work,
you know, but there’s just jobs
at the John Deere Tractor plant
and the beef and hog processing
plant or field work and I tell you,
I can’t, anymore. So I drink and get
in fights with my redneck friends
who think Uncle Sam is the moral
compass of the world.
Fuck that shit.