Gary Imlay

Gary Imlay was stationed at Camp Eagle near the city of Hue in 1971. Because of his musical background, he played clarinet in the army band attached to the 101st Airborne. Now he is a social worker in Ventura, California who works with gang kids, their families and other kids in trouble. He is currently working on a collection of poems entitled VALLEY OF THE DEAD.

A CHILD OF GOD

I came upon a child of God,
He was walking along the road.

It could have been me.
It could have been any one of us.
It was McKittrick.
Yellow skin, freckled face
wrinkled like an old apple,
odor of decay.
A shock of red hair-not an army cut-
must have been growing for months.
Army fatigues stained brown,
encrusted with mud
and frayed on the sleeves,
hung on him like a scarecrow.

But I asked him, where are you going
And this he told me:

"At Tom Son Nhut Air Base
first fifty of us off the plane
were chosen for 'a great honor,'
a special mission for the President.
It didn't matter
that I was a musician, a trombone player
who volunteered an extra year
to get out of the bush."

And I dreamed I saw the bombers
riding shotgun in the sky,
And they were turning into butterflies
Above the nation.

"Our chopper dropped into a narrow strip
pockmarked with craters.
We didn't wait. We got out
on the runway and loaded bombs,
loaded them onto planes that took off
and returned day after day,
week after week,
bombing the Ho Chi Minh Trail
when it passed through Laos.
Officially, of course,
we were not at war."

Well maybe it is just the time of year
Or maybe it's the time of man.

"Nowhere was safe. Marines
booby trapped the whole place,
but they didn't leave a map.
Everyday someone got blown up
going to the john or digging a trench.

Two nights ago I heard artillery,
the usual thing. First came the flash.
When you hear it, it's already too late.
It nicked my elbow on its way to the air field,
chipping a piece of bone. I'm damn lucky.
It bled hard, and I couldn't load bombs.
So, here I am."

I don't know who I am
but life is for learning.

"I know that it was illegal.
There were no orders.
They said it never happened.
The major never spoke to us.
If anyone asked, We are star dust
we didn't fly to Laos. We are golden
I played the trombone here And we've got to get ourselves
at Camp Eagle Back to the garden.
for the whole time.
There were no records. * Credit given to Joni Mitchell for her song,
They were all destroyed." Woodstock"

 

WALKING POINT
(dedicated to Jim Birdsall)

We gotta get out of this place
If it's the last thing we ever do.

We called him Bird.
He walked point
because he knew
somehow always knew without knowing
some invisible textwalked point
to where the land mines were
and knew when to stop
for a trip wire
some invisible text to pushwalked point
until he got pulled
out of the bush
to sing in the general's chorus
Jesus Christ Superstar
to sing, I've got to go home
for soldiers at fire bases
to star in a rock and roll band
that he began
and officers would deny
dfjkdfkdjdkfdfkdjfkdjkfdjkfjdkjfkdjfhe walked point
Last day in Nam
he chased a chopper to fly him home,
but it was full.
Grinning faces
whirled away out of dust
and left him pounding ground
he'd rather kiss in North Dakota
where his girl was waiting.

He walked point to stay alive,
dfjdjfkdjkdjfkjdkdkfjkdfjkdjfkdjfdfkjdfjdkfjdkfjfwalked point,
but that chopper took off
and crashed into a mountain side
shot down
without his warning,
everyone dead.

We gotta get out of this place * Credit given to the Animals for
If it's the last thing we ever do. their song, We Gotta Get Out
We gotta get out of this place Of This Place
Girl there's a better life for me and you.