Spitting to add shame disguised as
contempt. Turning to the livestock,
making chickens dance before exploding
them with grenades, looking for larger targets;
water buffalo cut down one leg at a time,
finished off with M-16s, trying to sever the heads
from the bodies, unsuccessful.
Lighting cigarettes and straw roofs of hootches
we headed for the tracks and tore across
rice paddies, under orders to destroy
next year's crop. And I, son of a farmer,
and grandson of a farmer,
saw the rice smashed, cows slaughtered,
farmsteads burned, and believed it was
justified as an act of war.
C. Robertsİ 5/98
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