A Few Pieces Of Paper Poem by Kyle Schlicher

walking through the village
is like walking
back in time.

people living close
to the earth
surviving
only because
it is their heritage.

smells I can't identify
hang upon the air
as the fires burn
and
the meals are prepared
for the hungry.

they watch us closely
without appearing
to be concerned
or even interested.

we in turn
eye them closely
and
they know
we are tense, alert
and ready.

a villager walks over to us
and
smiles a smile
blackened by years
of chewing betel nuts.

he is friendly
and
his hatred of us
is overcome
by his need to provide
for his family.

like machine gun fire
the questions come
from his mouth:

do we want girl?
do we want drugs?
do we want soda?
do we want cold beer?

now he has started an avalanche.

they descend upon us.
young kids swarming
around us like bees.

we grow more tense,
alert and ready
but the situation is
out of control.

anything we want
is at our fingertips.

ho chi minh slippers,
haircuts,
boots shined,
watches,
necklaces made with
grenade rings,
knives made from shrapnel.

all for a few
pieces of paper.

i hear the fiberglass stocks
of our m-16's
banging against the heads
of the smaller kids
as they squeeze us
closer and closer.

finally someone gets irritated
begins cursing
and
swatting
at their heads.

and this reaction spreads
quickly amongst us

until

someone finally
throws some mpc
to the side
and
quickly
the kids leave us
pushing and shoving
each other
in a desperate attempt
to gather

a few pieces of paper.

(7-23-1968)