Nobody Gets Off the Bus:
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Poetry by Ken Wolfe
Faces of Vietnam
Old faces... but no new faces.
When I'm in Washington DC and in front of that cold black
granite wall with all those names on it I can only think, no,
I can only see their faces, not their names, past faces, their
faces looking back at me. Whose face, their faces.
Of all those names on the wall, I can't match any of those
names with their faces and when I look into those faces I see
my face looking back at me, and my face turning into their
face, which face or whose face.
Their blood dripping from their faces onto my hands, I turn
and face another panel, those other faces with more blood
pouring onto my hands.
I see one face, or two faces, or three faces, when will it end.
How many more faces until it ends.
When I face the wall I now see more faces looking back
at me. My face joining with their faces. Some of those faces I
see but can't see. Why.
I look into that face and I see beyond him into more than
58,000 faces. Some of those faces are VC, for they have
faces too. Their faces whose faces.
A face, a friend's face, or the VCs' faces are coming through
the wall to take me on a long trip to see those in the wall. I
see blood dripping from the wall.... on my buddy's face, on
this place with all those names.
Ken Wolfe, aka "Wolfman," an AT&T data tech since his 'homecoming' in 1968, began writing poetry as an extension of PTSD therapy, is currently building a desktop publishing business and has published several poetry chapbooks for other poets. A computer hacker, Ken scans the nation's bulletin board system in search of missing buddies from his Vietnam years (1967-1968). He was with H Battery, 3/16 Arty; and A Battery, 2/11, 101st AB Div.