Flying over Tam Ky,
we've got it dicked.
Below
is the land
of zipperheaded graves
and Coca Colas,
arsenic-laced
by mamasan.
Sheridan said
he'd so devastate
the Shenandoah
a crow
would need to carry
extra rations
flying over.
We've got
our extra rations
with us:
Jap cameras
artificial ice cream,
strikebreaker grapes.
And this Huey
is the chariot
which lets us swing low
to zap the buffalo
and waste the farmer
with his hoe
-sans fear.
Now all I need
is you, dear.
But you're back
in The Land
of the Big P.X.
with your
backdoor man.
I worried too much about point;
I forgot to cover my rear.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem