Poet and Viet Nam vet Bruce Weigl helps us to see life in all its vividness.
The Last Lie
Some guy in the miserable convoy
Raised up in the back of our open truck
And threw a can of C rations at a child
Who called into the rumble for food.
He didn't toss the can, he wound up and hung it
On the child's forehead and she was stunned
Backwards into the dust of our trucks.
Across the sudden angle of the road's curving
I could still see her when she rose,
Waving one hand across her swollen, bleeding head,
Wildly swinging her other hand
At the children who mobbed her,
Who tried to take her food.
I grit my teeth to myself to remember that girl
Smiling as she fought off her brothers and sisters.
She laughed
As if she thought it were a joke
And the guy with me laughed
And fingered the edge of another can
Like it was the seam of a baseball
Until his rage ripped
Again into the faces of children
Who called to us for food.
Bruce Weigl
Lorain, Ohio-born poet and author of Archeology of the Circle, his latest book of poems.
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