Nearly 50 years after the last of the troops
and diplomats fled and ended you, the media,
then “the press,” is back to calling you
a “conflict.” I know you don’t think
that’s fair and for once I agree.
You killed 58 thousand of my generation
and we had God on our side—
but you invoked the domino theory
and our side killed 1.5 million or so
godless Commies. By the way,
thanks for air power and napalm, 
and for lending us all those Hmong—
we even relocated some of the survivors
to Minnesota, where they could play in the snow. 

When I got married in 1971, one of my ushers
had been to Vietnam and came back
without enough fingers left to cut his food.
Then an inconspicuous boy 
who had been in my Boy Scout platoon
got his name on a monument
that looked like a gravestone that had been dumped
alongside of the road. You missed
two of my soldier friends completely
and I thank you for that, though I’m sure 
it was not your intention.

But then you got up close and personal
and came for me. I was 25 when I opened
a slim letter from my draft board
that said I had an appointment for a physical
in three weeks. When I called 
to argue that I would be too old
to be drafted in a month, the tired voice			
on the other end of the line said,
“Why do you think we scheduled you?”

She didn’t add that it was because the Board
had run out of volunteers who wanted to go
or were in college with no deferments
I thought of Canada but I didn’t know
anyone there. I thought of calling a friendly doctor
my parents knew, to try to get a letter about my flat feet.

Then I got another slim letter that said they
didn’t want me because, in fact, I was too old.
Sometimes I wonder who took my place
at your table? I hope they got back OK
but you had all the cards. I remember
they were called “draft cards” back then,
and they kept on catching on fire.