This is a poem I wrote about a friend at work. He had come under attack by "friendly fire" on top of a hill in ‘Nam. Word came down that it was an NVA stronghold. Actually there were three Marines and 22 Vietnamese civilians up there. The fighter jets flew over and dropped a concussion grenade and the next jet came in and laid down napalm. He was the only survivor. Due to his injuries he came home under heavy medication. After the VA stopped his supply of pain killers he began self-medicating with cocaine and heroin. By the time I knew him he was half dead and rapidly approaching the other half. The poem came out in a jazz style. I don't think it ever had a title before. If it did, I don't remember what it was.