Quang Ngai, 1968

by Robert Karaszi

In this geometry of a dream
I’m back where the sun,
a monstrous orb
pours savage light
through rockweed.

Starlings like gray halos
circle then arrow
into mangroves.

Across Zone D
drowned children float –
like creosoted planks
from a detonated pier.

“I am Jehovah’s boy,” I cry
but maybe now,
I’ll be next.

Round every tug and snap of bamboo
along each smoking mile
maybe now,
tamps against my psyche.

From the hills,
a black Chinook
slashes sky.

We wait till twilight leans
upon gun metal;
ready to breach the VC hut
as a nerve inside each man whispers,
maybe now.


Robert Karaszi worked as a lyricist/songwriter for an independent record label in 1990, where he also freelanced as a writer for upcoming artists. Most recently, he was nominated for a 2013 Pushcart Prize. His poetry has appeared in Conclave: A Journal Of Character, The Tower Journal, Straylight Magazine, and various other print and online publications. Currently he resides in New Jersey.

1 Comment

Filed under Poetry

One response to “Quang Ngai, 1968

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