Robert W. Flournoy

FLYING OVER VIETNAM

Where are the craters, scorches, gashes and rips that I remember?
Have the reminders of our presence been so thoroughly eradicated,
new growth fertilized by the blood of a million?

Half a world away, there will be no such scars
in the soft shifting Arabian deserts,
not even for a time,
just the ghosts of another lost cause.

Our reminders will be still further away,
here at home,
faded wooden crosses,
green weathered bronze, and
wind shallowed stone,
names whose faces will be forgotten
with time.