Poetry Vietnam 5

Extract from A Book of Vietnam "War" Poetry


We Gotta Get Outta This Place


If it’s the last thing we ever do…
We’ve got to get out of this place.

We’ve got to get out,
No doubt,
Out of this place,
We’ve got to get out.

Away from the counting of days all day,
Away from the pining for Kay so gay,
Away from the long nights lonely and lorn,
Away from a rival furled tight with his scorn.

We’ve got to get out of this place.

Far from the dilly and dally of green,
Far from the C.O. so pushy, so mean,
Far from the capsules and needles you’re fed,
Far from the yearning to snuggle in bed.

We’ve got to get out of this place.

Off to where shell swishes are not to fear,
Off to where grenades are not what you hear,
Off to where there are not boots to lace tight,
Off to where there are not snakes in the night.

We’ve got to get out of this place.

Not near the red ooze on the chopper’s floor,
Not near bloodied gauze and the wounded’s roar,
Not near the stench of a body’s burnt flesh,
Not near the gore of a soldier’s slow death.

We’ve got to get out,
No doubt,
Out of this place,
We’ve got to get out.


21 February 1997