Gitmo & Saigon is a City in the Mind of my Patriot, poems by Teresa White


      It’s July
      and the US Court
      will “maybe” make
      up its mind “next” year
      to think about
      that is, “think” about
      whether to review the question of
      “whether” those men down there
      ought to be able
      to file
      that is, “ought” to be able
      to file a complaint
      right here in the states
      to question
      that is, “question”
      why they’re being held
      (some over “five” years
      without counsel)
      in the first place.

      Saigon is a City

      in the Mind of my Patriot

      A soliloquy under a bower of gunshot
      became his:
      “Vietnam Vietnam Vietnam”

      If you walk far enough up Sprague
      he’ll be there
      where rail cars carrying ammunition
      to the coast
      cross the graffiti-marked bridge
      he sleeps under.

      He hasn’t aged in twenty years.
      Must be that diet of Top Ramen
      and moon pies. I always drop
      a quarter in his cup.

      Maybe it’s the wine, after all,
      that remembers the women, girls really,
      their slim bodies beneath him
      before the jungle became a green body bag
      blood thicker than thirst
      water almost gone.

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