The firing broke out

just as my squad reached the edge

of a long-abandoned ville.

My adrenal gland

red-lined as we rushed in

to close with the enemy.

Suddenly a man jumped up

to my right and ran

between some collapsing hootches.

As I ran after him

I yelled out to my fire team

"I've got a gook over here!"

In the center of the ville

he crossed a clear area

and jumped behind a pile of rubble.

I shot at him

but I missed.

I wasn't crossing that clear area

to get to him

and I couldn't shoot him from where I was.

I reached into the old Claymore bag

I carried across my shoulder

and pulled out a hand grenade.

I pulled the pin,

let the spoon fly

and tossed the frag over the pile.

The explosion sounded wonderful

and the short scream that

followed was the best thing

I'd heard all day.

In the moment of silence

that followed I realized

all the firing in the ville had ceased.

Then from behind the pile of rubble

came a horrible screeching.

I approached the pile from the flank

with my rifle up and ready.

There lay a very dead gook

and a horribly wounded dog.

I shot it right away.

As I bent down to search the body of my enemy,

with tears in my eyes

I asked God to forgive me.

I hadn't meant to hurt the dog.

copyright © 1992 by John Musgrave, from his book "On Snipers, Laughter and Death: Vietnam Poems," all rights reserved

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