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THE SAIGON STRIP CLUB

Strutting the stage
your slant eyes rounded
by Hong Kong scalpels -
self-imposed mutilation,
in gratification
of the mass of humanity
all dressed in green
and roaring drunkenly
from the other side
of the lights of your land.

None of them are anxious
for your entrance or exit
nor the rolling of drums,
grand as it was,
which signified lust
and prominent nipples
with a naked bum;
more often than not
seen out there by them
in the throes of death.

Exhausted soldiers cheering
but inwardly too tired
to think about anything
but the next patrol,
and the one after that;
seeing the gleaming
knife-edge in dancing eyes,
and knowing the fury
was meant for them.

John A. Moller
Whiskey Two Company RNZIR

 

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