Walking Point

He’s probably 13 or 14, matchstick thin, 
dressed in black pajamas like so many 
Vietnamese, flip-flops, thick black hair:  

but startled now, wild headlight eyes. 
(He’d been walking the narrow jungle 
trail, rifle casual over his shoulder, like  

a 14-year-old carries a baseball bat, 
when the American soldier stepped 
into his path.) And the boy stands  

frozen for a moment, then drops his 
weapon and runs. The soldier snaps 
his rifle to his shoulder, sights square  


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