David R. “Poppa” Alexander


Was I really there?
Would anyone really care?
Or was it a game of “I dare”?
Is it something about the uniform we wear?

Did the place really exist?
Was there something in the morning mist?
Should I really stop and check my list?
Was there something about making a fist?

Were there people really dead?
Or did I make it up in my head?
Do you suppose I might still be in bed?
Am I alive or am I dead?

Was the day that awfully hot?
Would you believe me or would you not?
Was that a bloody spot?
What’s that, something about a steel pot?

Were the people really real?
Did we eat everything out of a can?
And was I there over a whole years span?
Was that dead man’s name really Dan?

Was someone trying to kill me?
Or is that a movie that I see?
Shooting at an enemy were we?
Could that many people really not be free?

Can my mind really be that bent?
To Vietnam, was I really sent?
Was I really ever that young and ignorant?
And were our lives not worth a single cent?

Am I asleep or am I dreaming?
Will I awake screaming?
And with rodents is this place teaming?
Is my soul worth redeeming?

Wait I’m awake but how do I know?
Will this nightmare I ever outgrow?
When I wake up will my face still be aglow?
Will anyone ever know?

Questions I ask – will they stay or will they go?