The bomb popped in his face
While he was digging a fire pit
For his family squatting
On the old mercenary camp
In Xieng Khouang province
So notorious for its UXO.
'They live there for the American plumbing, '
Our host said flatly,
Watching volleyball games by the airstrip.
This was wholly routine.
The ruined grounds were frozen.
Explosives, dormant blooms below
Can be mistaken for ice and rock easily.
And he screamed
The whole while as we loaded
Him into the back of our rickety plane
To Vientiane that
Lao Aviation picked up from
The Russians when everyone
Thought the Cold War
Was going somewhere.
The California girl on holiday
Was aghast and found it
Quite unscenic.
What a pall on her search for highs.
In Wat Inpeng,
A monk named Souk
Confided discretely:
'We really hate hippies.'
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem