April Fool's Day, 1967...
It was a Saturday.
Fifty-one years ago.
I took the point
because our point man
was up at Camp Zama in the hospital,
and no one else knew the job.
I thought that I knew the job.
I missed something, though,
and I helped add eight names to The Wall in D.C.
Damn near added mine, too,
but the medic was on my chopper.
There are times, like right now,
when I wish to hell that I had not survived
that chopper ride.
Sometimes it's the memories and the thoughts that hit me.
But any more, and the unreal pain jumps in there
to stir things up a bit more.
Not sure which is worse -
the mental or the physical pain.
I sure could have a better life
without the physical pain, though.

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