Fire Base Rita

I lost you
In the oily smoke
Of Fire Base Rita
The summer of ’69.

You were my friend.
The limitless horizons of youth
Stretched before us
And though we knew the risks
Could not imagine
They constrained us.

We joked and laughed
Talked of all we would do
Back in the world
Once you were home.

How could I know
You were not coming home?

Had I understood the brevity of time
I would have done less joking
Less time spent discussing girls
And hot cars.
I would have given more attention
To what mattered.
But we were kids.
How could I know what mattered?

Back in the world streets teemed
With students burning flags
Lofting banners
Calling soldiers “baby killers.”
I stood on the curb
Jeering those cursing you.

I never wrote about them
Although I’m certain you knew.
I wanted you to come home
Celebrated for the hero
I knew you were.

But you weren’t coming home.

I lost you on a green mountain top
Bristling with rockets and concertina wire
In a land that never appeared to be at war
Until the jungle belched fire and smoke.

They put what remained of you
In a flag-draped box
And sent you home.
They gave your family a Purple Heart
And the “Appreciation of a grateful nation.”

The bugle is silent now
And the drums are still.

Today there is no Fire Base Rita
On the jungle mountain where you died.
Its scar has healed
In a place where death was so swift
There was no time to scream.
Decades have drained away
But somehow
I’m still waiting for you to come home.