David’s Poem

The Grunt, aka David Tompkins, expressed the dark realities of Vietnam from the war zone.

Those of us of a certain age recall the Vietnam years. The body counts on the evening news. The draft and the lottery that would tell us—by the birthdate pulled and ranked in the order pulled 1 to 365—the likelihood that a brother or a cousin or a boyfriend/husband might be called to service. As the 1960s and early ’70s progressed, there was less and less support as Americans wondered why we were fighting this war.

Then there were the letters home to parents and grandparents. Also the care packages wrapped and mailed overseas to loved ones.

This summer, at our annual cousins’ barbeque, my cousin shared with us this poem that he wrote while on duty in Vietnam. Dave and five of his friends from the Philly neighborhood were drafted for duty in the 1960s. Two of them were headed off to college and were therefore exempt. Another was underweight and was not drafted. My cousin David and his buddy served. He wrote this as an 18-year-old serving his country:

       
Guard

As I sit and watch the river go by

On my bunker beneath the sky,

I ask myself a million times

Why am I here, I wonder why?

While on my guard I must be ready

my nerves seem shot, yet I must be steady,

There’s a round in the chamber, well

you never know when you’ll be asked to fire,

but that rounds there is my desire,

The dark of night creeps round the corner

I’m left alone to be the warner,

The still and quiet that waits out there

Is all the company I have to bear,

The time of night passes slowly

Then early morning soon sets in;

A sudden shot shrieks through the air

The sense of danger lurks everywhere,

I drop to the ground and hug the earth

My heart beats faster so I fire a burst,

Then all is still as I lay in silence

While dawn breaks as does the violence,

For now my guard has come to end

But another night will come again

                                         The Grunt