Group Answer
So... what you askin’ ‘bout my dead legs for?
My wheels work fine.
Who can walk on water anyway?
Is that like the float of a butterfly,
the sting of a bee?
Oh, how literal the charade,
how scary the purveyors that smile,
trying to rid the world of...
you know,
that world of creative exposure,
the daring of reason,
of dust.
C’mon!
That's how they trained us.
I'm supposed to listen to the bellowing
the brainwashing platitudes
expunging our reality
the frying of our...?
Christ, man.
Don't open that book again.
Don't lift that ribbon marker,
prattle and point,
"see...it says it right here...see?"
Not again!
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And, he told me about, because of his small stature, having to crawl into Vietcong tunnels and place explosives to blow them up. Sometimes, there were prisoners, mostly villagers, who were held captive in those tunnels… Implying that he had either trapped or killed innocent Vietnamese in captivity.
Said that he couldn't stay married and couldn't sleep. He should have gone to college. And maybe he did, like so many on the G.I. Bill. But when he confessed to me, his primary mission in life was working on being the fastest there was on the local dragstrip with his Ford Lightning.
And you don't know how many times good Christians came to me, told me I was "blessed," and insisted that I pray with them to save my poor soul. Their good book having all the answers in the Scripture to everything they encountered.
Ron