It never rained confetti
the day they came home.
Memories, like torn paper,
fell in drifts as high as
skyscrapers, buried beneath
napalm-scorched nerves.
Sharp vines coiled through thoughts,
spinning like helicopter blades
lost in the jungle of
sweat-soaked sheets.
Letters often arrived first,
thin envelopes heavy with dread,
before taxi-delivered telegrams
confirmed the worst.
And sometimes,
a single knock at the door
foretold a heart
ripped from its place,
like a booby trap hidden
beneath their feet.
There were parades of fear
and rivers of drugs,
but no applause.
Only a long road
stretching beyond sight,
lined with tattered flags.
