The River Dragon*

The locals called them
Phaya Naga
Or “River Dragons”
Balls of light
Rising gasses
Glowing above the river.
We imagined them
As images of
Approaching doom.

Fireflies above my lawn
Return me to muzzle flashes
Along the banks of the Mekong.
It was a beautiful place to die.

We were young.
Too young to take death seriously.
Dying was a slight of hand
A shell game
Played by the Reaper.

But we were sly.
Too sly to die.

Until we saw
The River Dragon.

The fireflies in my yard appear
With the same peculiar pattern
As muzzle flashes along the Mekong.
I flinch
Expecting the sear of incoming rounds
Tearing and mangling the flesh
Of my friends
Separating body from soul.

My grandchildren chase fireflies in the night
Laughing
Nets in hand
With jars to trap the flashing lights.

But I stand at a distance
Fearing
The River Dragon.



* This poem is not autobiographical
but a Memorial Day tribute to our service men and women
who gave their full measure of devotion to our country
so our children, and children's children
might chase fireflies in the night.