Boots

He walks toward me, 
Boots dangling 
Round his neck 
a big smile a huge toothy grin 
dawn turns his teeth ghastly 
-you want NVA boots GI?- 
the silence, 
the morning mist 
and I look past him to the wire; I see death, 
pre-dawn hell, 
Free boots 
belts 
death sprawled, 
gathering flies, 
no one moves 
in unison...so young 
I turn away 
to cry 
to hide 
to scream a silent scream 
and move on. 
©Greg Sheppard 2002