My Dad served in the Army and was in Vietnam. I have a handful of war poems, not all of them published. This one only appears here.
Viet Cong in the Rec Room
Dad was not himself
when my brothers turned
not themselves,
when cue sticks turned
to rifles, as they aimed
balls into pockets
bullets into rice paddies,
when after sinking all the stripes
they chalked their tips again and grinned
called the eight, took their last best shot at him.