october 1963
tự do street, sàigòn
old waiters at l’imperial
sprint from the open air cafe,
racing a pursuing billow
of hot shrapnel steel, smoke and fire
from mr. charlie’s tossed grenade,
in the cartoonish fashion of
wile e. coyote, and barefoot,
their plastic flip-flops left behind
after the evening’s close call,
their memories fresh blistered, scarred
from the experience of fire,
they return to their wait stations
for the next morning’s all day shift
wearing new bata tennis shoes,
insurance against second place
in any next footrace with death
First published in VietnamWarPoetry.com 2016
© Johm Buquoi 2016 Reprinted with kind permission of the author