Gary Rafferty

Gary Rafferty served from May 6, 1970 to April 10, 1971 with A Btry, 2nd Bn. 94th Artillery in Vietnam, primarily in northern Quang Tri Province, along the DMZ, and west to the Laos Border. He retired from the Nashua (N.H.) Fire Department as a lieutenant in 1991 and is currently at work on a manuscript of poems entitled A HEART ON MY SLEEVE. The following poems are from two sections of that work. Gary Rafferty explains, "this is 'Poetry of Witness'. It's my attempt to give words to horror."

(The following poems are from CALL FOR FIRE! In military terms, a call for fire is a concise message prepared by the observer in a request for artillery fire support.)

LAST ASYLUM

I haven't laughed this way
for a long time.

In the safety
of ward 8
we are the child-warriors
who went to Nam.
Irreverent, outrageous
not yet butchered.

& Kelly, that crazy bastard,
makes us laugh
'till our sides ache.

The funniest part?
When Howard, our Korean Vet asks
in perfect innocence,

"Do you guys know how fast
a grass hut burns?"

We make zippo motions
with our hands
& tears roll down our cheeks.

"Do you know how fast
a grass hut burns?!"

Shit, Howard,
half of 'Nam
is STILL on fire
because of us!
& so are we.

DIPLOMATIC RECOGNITION

A veteran I know
whose only emotion is rage,
Protests 'giving up' prisoners
long ago sacrificed by Kissinger
for political expediency
& his Nobel Peace Prize.
these men are dead.
Buried deeper than a veteran's hope
covered by earth &
Regan's Alzheimer illusion
of 'a noble cause'.

I do not demean our brothers
blown-to-hell.
In government parlance
'Missing-in-Action'.
I wish them 'God Speed'
& hope to see them again
in dusty rotor's wash.
When that last medi-vac
finally sets down
on my ultimate cold LZ.

Still I hear on AM radio
about a hollow mountain
that holds our POW's.
complete with metal louvers
for sunlight & American food.

I believe there is a mountain
more hollow than Nixon's promise.
Deeper, darker than his scruples.
Alas, more vacant than
MacNamara's moral courage
& contains nothing of substance,
merely trapped souls
of all of us who remain
Prisoners-of-War.

Clinton's "undeterred", he can afford to be.
He's never walked each step in terror.
Never known how it is, when every footfall tempts
your fate & a single brittle thread can send your balls
over the treeline in pursuit of your legs.
Never seen a man,
vanish
in a red mist, which was once his own flesh.
After 25 years, I walk in woods
eyes fixed on the ground, study
for that disturbed leaf or twig,
thin metal prong or painted wire strung,
just so high.
I tell my eyes, it's no longer there.
Yet they are drawn, as metal is to magnets,
to watch the earth. For still my legs cringe
with every step waiting for that, BANG!
The last mine of my endless war
which is now, my good troopers,
also yours.

May God Have mercy, Amen.

LONG TIME, NO SEE

(The following poem is from FIRST SALVO. In military terms, an initial salvo is the first impact of artillery rounds on a target from a Battery of artillery. It follows a call for fire from an observer.)

"What's new, still on the fire department?"
What do I say?
The truth, as in no.

Explain 12 psych admissions,
endless nightmares whose theme
runs along the lines of
'Name That Corpse"

Tell 'em the line beteen Vietnam
and the fire department blurred,
& I couldn't tell the bodies apart.

A battle-hard son of a bitch,
I could spit out a mouthful of vomit
last deposit of a soul checking out
and not miss a beat
on the C.P.R. Rhythm & Blues Chart.
Now I watch 911,
throw things,
tears sneak down my face.
I did so many heart attacks,
every restaurant I go to
I EXPECT to meet a flashback.
Some gray-faced spector
lying on the floor,
who'd gurgle
"Oh yeah, lieutenant, I remember you!"

Vietnam's dead closed ranks
with those from the fire service,
came up out of the ground
and grabbed me by the throat.

Friend, I've
traded competence for compensation.

A bag man, I paw through
the dumpster of my life,
searching for a shard of soul.