GEORGE, THE ROCK APE
My father took this picture in Tay Ninh City, Vietnam in 1967. I added some color to it.
In an old French fort
In Vietnam
The shrubs were pruned
Into elegant swans
It seemed out of place
In a time of war
Green swans, backlit
Under rounds of mortar
The MACV supply sergeant
Kept a rock ape called George
They'd walk hand-in-hand
When he wasn't caged
When George grew restless
He'd go to the bar
He wanted to fight
After all, it was war
My father was stationed
At the old French fort
His room, down the hall
The phone, by the bar
Each morning, he rose
To make the day's call
George came from the darkness
His eyes filled with war
He was tired of living
Caged behind bars
It wasn't a living
He could have foresaw
He and my father
Had that in common
Both lived in bars
Tangling fates with the ARVN
He was sick of being mortared
In the sweltering heat
Chuck made the call
George remembered his teeth
He went for the neck
As my father recalled
So by the hackles
He grabbed him
And tossed him over the bar
If they'd sat down together
They would have agreed
Both man and rock ape
On a great many things
But as fate would have it
The ape intervened
He knew only war
He never knew peace
Strange things happen
In times of war
Men live with rock apes
In old French forts
Where mortar rounds fall
Onto rows of green swans
And each time you wake up
It's still Vietnam.
