Untitled - July 4,2016 Poem by Bill Grace

The girl at the door of Wendy's nicely tells me
at 0800 (oh eight hundred)
they do not open
until 9.

I am watching
the building of a new Wal-Mart.
'FIVE STATE HELICOPTER'
has joined the struggle
moving huge
concrete bath tubs
half the size
of a Normandy pill box
to the inside
of prefabricated walls
of the emerging temple.

The men in orange shirts
form a fire team
each must signal
that his chain is secure
before the monster
can take up the slack.
5 STATE is a powerful machine
Its rotors stir
my black coffee into waves,
orchestrate a deja vu.

The strange pulsing sound
of egg beaters
more powerful than gravity
and I am on the ground again
protected from the same sun
by a hamburger emporium's umbrella
Viet Nam remembered
but not experienced.