Daddy was one of the bloods long before j.edgar hoover destroyed the panthers Demonized their sons into crips and bloods Daddy and his fellow “bloods” served in, survived, and died in the nam.
Most bloods died by the draft that blew them to the front lines in disproportionate numbers Blew them before enemies almost as brown as them Even more poor Third world deviant Viet cong guerillas
Daddy signed up to …fly high above the fray To find out if we were really fighting for freedom on the south east side of asia
Daddy told me what he found were the likes of cargill, exxon, dupont, and sea land Trucking guns, ammo, equipment and supplies to the north and south of vietnam To the communists and the capitalists To the enemy and the allies alike Money made bloody hand over broken fists It was madness
Daddy bonded with cats from places like wisconsin, idaho, utah, and kansas Cats who would tell him after having way too many beers, “i ain’t never met no blacks before. You ain't like them niggers we see on tv. You’s alright brother!”
The bond between mother and child may be the only bond greater than that shared by men who’ve served and survived war
Daddy’s bond with his midwest band of brothers was short lived He told me the tales of having to piece those good ole boys back together after a battle
Watches still tied to wrists Dog tags to torsos Often the only means of bagging the right parts to the right body Daddy couldn't process parts and shipping orders as fast as they stacked Body bags didn’t ship as quickly as ammo, rifles, and tanks A macabre back log that led daddy to mount the white horse
A horse that soon morphed into a monkey on his back Heroin was…is the name Was the means by which my daddy made his way back home
That animal running through daddy’s veins was another reason to be over there Poppy Fields like King Cotton made money for masters Hand over black power fists
Grandma told me daddy came back home trying to pry that monkey from his back She had stop him from sleeping on the floor From reaching for his pistol every time a window or door slammed Daddy had made his way home/ still lost The son who left, was not the man who returned Daddy, like many bloods, found it hard to call home, home
I was 1, daddy 17 when he left for the nam After the nam, korea was his next stop, and the rest of the globe Including a storm out in the desert Daddy wandered in the desert for almost ten years before i found him again I was well over 1, him was way past 17 just in time to bury grandma
Daddy left, for his final rest, a year later They shipped him home in an airtight body bag Toxins from nam, korea, and desert storm Made my daddy a threat to American security To family safety So we could never really bring daddy’s body back to the earth that birthed him Just his ashes and dust
Daddy wasn’t the only one Be hip if it was only his story But his multiplied by millions is what’s true So many lost bloods still trying to find their way back home Still trying to pry monkeys off their backs Still lost in a wilderness not of their birth Imprisoned within minds still caught behind enemy lines
With no way home...
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