1.
Vietnam is more than a rancid
memory: kites gone wild, escaping
over rice paddies, skinny kids with
visible ribs. Happy without knowing
its poisoned history.

2.
My older brother Bob never came
back; was teaching English as a second
language, which I find ironic. American
bombs melted his school and everything
in it: souls evaporating like hot lava back
into the water.

3.
I ate there last March; slept in straw palettes
with hospitable families who never quit smiling,
offering me spices and spring rolls and thin delicious
soups and hot peppers that made me cry.
I tasted Bob’s skin and
it was good.

# # #

John Dorroh (JD) believes that he taught high school science for 30 years; the verdict is still out. He writes letters, flash-fiction, poetry, and rants. Former students often tell him that they wanted to buy him beers but it was inappropriate. Now he accepts them and collaborates in karaoke on a whim.