Tyson West
Rainforests Vietnam
(Rondel)
Crisp uniform too loose—my corps' salute
no dream would scry this war would swirl with trees
my first patrol night earth mud stench unease
rice paddy punji pits undid our route.
Though shaking, I admire flowers, bright fruit,
snake scales and glints of giant honeybees.
Damp uniform too loose—my fear's salute
no dream would scry this war would spin in trees.
Lush leaves explode as well hid snipers shoot.
Past cobra fang and trip wire slow we squeeze
through orchid wreathed trails. Fearing death I seize
truth—beauty at life's edge burns most acute.
Ripped uniform too loose—my fierce salute.
Bio
Tyson West has published speculative fiction and poetry in free verse, form verse and haiku distilled from his mystical relationship with noxious weeds and magpies in Eastern Washington. He has no plans to quit his day job in real estate.