Driving through Minnesota During the Hanoi Bombings

We drive between lakes just turning green; Late June. The white turkeys have been moved A second time to new grass. How long the seconds are in great pain! Terror just before death, Shoulders torn, shot From helicopters. “I saw the boy being tortured with a telephone generator,” The sergeant said. “I felt sorry for him And blew his head off with a shotgun.” These instants become crystals, Particles The grass cannot dissolve. Our own gaiety Will end up In Asia, and you will look down in your cup And see Black Starfighters. Our own cities were the ones we wanted to bomb! Therefore we will have to Go far away To atone For the suffering of the stringy-chested And the short rice-fed ones, quivering In the helicopter like wild animals, Shot in the chest, taken back to be questioned.