My Lai

a Vietnam fog stirred early in the mid-March sky
silencing the young babies and their frightened mothers
the sound of rifle fire made it hard to hear them cry
their bunker was not dug too deeply into the weeping dirt
as the young men of Charlie company searched for easy targets
intending to inflict maximum hurt
on the hamlet of My Lai or Pinkville
as it became widely known
among soldiers shouting KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL
littered with the dead and splintered bone
March 16, 1968
five hundred and more civilians not coming back
to their woven, comforting sleeping mat
snuffed and wasted and zapped
bloodied in black
they were no longer breathing the machine gun smoke of their burning home
war is always more than what it seems
and makes man less
than what he dreams
the water buffalo was not planning an ambush
he was not wild
his big black eyes were no longer seeing a happy child,
or anyone
he fell on the rich green shoots of rice unharvested under an afternoon sun,
more a pet than an enemy undone