Please click play to listen to me recite my poem
to the instrumental version of Jackson Browne’s “Song for Adam”
Hoyt
Back in the 60’s you loved music and sports, the young girls and having fun.
You never wanted to cross the sea, go sweat in the jungles, or kill anyone.
But times were different, and the hype was piped to your TV sets, 10 times a day
If you didn’t get involved and fight, it made no difference; you’d be drafted any way
otherwise it might be the end of life as you knew it, the end of the American way.
The poor and the aimless, the duped and confused the drop outs and the misled
Like cattle to slaughter they waited in recruiting lines, to shave their heads
Heroes were made from kids like you I suspect, you bought what they said
and you and him and your best friend signed up so you, could serve and protect,
Now there’s a million books to the contrary, siting on the shelves
But you were a good man and good men, don’t live just for themselves.
You saw death and the worst of humanity over there that you still dream about.
Some snipers who looked their victims in the face took their own lives when they got out
A lot of people died and some souls left their bodies while laying bleeding in your lap
You saw too much too soon and you prayed to be saved some day, go home and never come back.
Now there’s a million books saying how wrong that war was, just sitting there on the shelves
But you were a good man and good men, don’t live just for themselves.
Some veterans brought their wounds back home, lost their limbs and mind
But some, like you, did drugs to bury that horror that you couldn’t leave behind.
But you were lucky you had people who loved you and you learned how to run
Got off drugs, became a teacher, in the toughest barrios, ruled by knives and guns.
Like all teachers you put your life on the line, bad pay and lack of books on the shelves
But you were a good man and good men, don’t live just for themselves.
You married and made a life raised your kids and were well loved in every workplace
You were a marathon runner and for decades ran your heart out in each race.
You ate right, exercised, but in the end the Agent Orange you sprayed in Vietnam before
caught up with you and gave you cancer and you were told you had to battle a new kind of war.
Your family is so afraid to let you go, they beg you to accept the poison eating up your cells
You do your chemotherapy because you’re a good man, and good men don’t live just for themselves.
That Vietnam war didn’t take you in your youth but it’s trying to take you in the end
I know you dream, of unplugging yourself from catheters & needles and go on your own to transcend
and when you are ready, go out to the desert, to Joshua tree and pick your time to fly
Read some poetry, watch the vultures gracefully circling and riding currents in the sky
Close your eyes and say, “I am so grateful for it all, please take care of my children and my wife .”
Because this good man is ready to do this for himself, take one big breath… and walk to the afterlife.
Karima Hoisan
August 1, 2023
Costa Rica
*Footnote: This poem is written for and dedicated to my dear friend, Hoyt.
We met in the virtual (never in real life) almost 15 years ago
and among many other things, we share a love of poetry.
Today Hoyt is one of the most loyal and supportive friends I know in any life.
He never fails to read and catch up with what’s new on my blog and never fails
to make me laugh too:)
I treasure him.
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