Laid Back

Laid back in my hooch, sun finally down,
sweet ocean breeze blowing
through my
Tropical Paradise.


Insects flutter against the tent's net sides,
lusting for the lamp's  light.
Tropical paradise.


Lizards feast in phototropic bounty
while I hit hard on a Thai Stick 
rolled just for me,
Tropical Paradise.


I  drift, doze, happy with the wind's tickle,
free from fear for the first 
time that day in my
Tropical Paradise.


Even the wounds I had worked on
now closed without scars
and the gore on the landscape
became  Hershey's 
chocolate, Yea,
Tropical Paradise.


Med Evacs suddenly slapping
the air and I rise up
too quickly and float
dizzy to the door.
I run through the dust 
of the chopper's backwash,
in the door of the E. R.
 and see:


Small child,  hair glossy black,
newly shaped in a bowl
framed fine features
held captive wild eyes,
legs stretched out
straight  on the stretcher,
torso  right angled,
propped up by thin arms.


But her foot,
torn by metal teeth,
chards of bone, flaps of skin,
a blood and mud disaster to
the  arch.


NOO, she's to perfect for this and,
giddy  and  gagging
I run for the door
and outside on my knees
vomit my stoned despair into
the dust.


I  hear her mother moan
and wonder out loud who 
will marry her daughter now
as I stare at the dirt of my
Tropical Paradise.