We get stoned out on the gun.
When Brady joins us with his big head,
we crack jokes and run for cover.

Run for your lives.
The Space Creep has landed.
Hey brother, take off that head.

We hide behind sandbags
to blast the Creep with bullets, grenades
and the M72 LAW.

He stands in the middle of the gun pit,
with his hands pressed to his ears,
screaming,

‘Come on you guys.
Cut it out.
I’m going crazy’.

Brady ran around today,
babbling
at the top of his lungs.

They observed him in Nha Trang,
then sent him home,
to Philadelphia I think.

Fred Nicholson