My brother and my husband have gone off to war. What is it for?
Why do men die, and women cry,
And children wait in dread?
I nursed a lieutenant who’d lost a leg
On a mine. He screamed each time
The swaddling was removed.
The matron (a major) reproved him.
She had no husband, no sweetheart, no son,
Maybe not even a brother. Heartless one!
Why should men have to feel no pain?
It’s a terrible war. It’s for justice, they say,
For democracy, but then
My brother says most of the people want Charlie to win. They can’t be trusted. Traitors are everywhere. The worst are the Yanks over there.
There is more chance, the Anzacs sneer
Of death from “friendly fire” from a bullet shot by a gun Of a rookie G.I. than by the Viet Cong.
I share the views of the other Army wives here.
We’re loyal to our men, but then
We hate the war, wonder what it’s for.
The Vietnamese don’t want us there.
Why should we care?
I’m filled with dread when I hear a chopper overhead. My brother’s riding shotgun on the choppers from My Lai. I cry when A.P.C.s rumble by.
My husband says he’s safe inside a tank,
But I’m afraid some silly Yank will drop a bomb in error. That’s the terror.
Or a shell will explode on the road
And the hell will trap him and his men inside as they ride. I have a son. I want his father home; in one piece would be fine. Some men have come home, intact in body but not mind, And have left their wives behind,
To roam like lost souls, with no goals. I hope that won’t happen to mine.