A poem that tells a clever story of an incident during the Vietnam War.

Now a lot of strange stories have come out of Vietnam,
But sure none as bizarre as the tale of old Charlie Papasan.

It was way back in sixty-eight, not long after Tet,
Near some lush rice paddies, that me and Charlie met.

They sent us out to recon a hill called three-O-four,
But little did we suspect just what lay in store.

You see, that hill was empty except for one dead tree,
But hunkered down behind it was one toothless old VC.

Attired in black pajamas, not a hair left on his head,
This old Charlie Papasan already looked half dead.

He had a single shot rifle, it was dated nineteen and ten.
He`d fought the French and then the Japs and then the French again.

I guess old Charlie`d `bout had enough, having seen a lot in his days,
And like most old goats, he was kinda set in his ways.

So on that hill he sat above his paddy field.
Surrounded by our unit, he still refused to yield.

So we called him on the bullhorn: yelled, “Papasan, come on down,
We don`t want to hurt you, so don`t be screwin’ around.”

Then out of the barrel of his rifle, came old Papasan’s reply,
And we all sucked some mud as he let his bullets fly.

He answered us with a shot, the first one of the day,
But it was not to be the last, as we scrambled out of the way.

Now this went on for hours as we kept our faces to the ground.
We couldn`t even return fire as Papasan shot his rounds.

Our squad leader crawled to the phone and asked what he should do:
He reported we were under fire, had bit off more than we could chew.

HQ called back on the horn, said the word was “No Abort”
Our gung-ho looey said, “Can Do”, and called for air support.

So they sent in the flyboys to napalm that old VC
And they dropped tons of firecrackers targeting that old tree.

We waited for the smoke to clear and when it finally did,
There was old Charlie Papasan; still behind that stump he hid.

So they called in Special Forces, the Rangers, and Berets,
But old Charlie Papasan kept them pinned down for days.T

hen they tried offshore bombardment from every ship in the fleet
But all their shells missed Papasan by at least a hundred feet.

Then they sent for gunships and they came a spittin’ flame
But Papasan behind his tree just took more careful aim.

We watched in stunned disbelief as each Huey bit the dust
Brought down by old Papasan and his rifle lined with rust.

Finally our old Sarge just couldn`t take no more.
I saw him crawl off through the brush, and wondered what the hell for.

Then in a minute he was back and I knew where he`d had to go.
‘Cause here came Sarge a-leading Papasan’s water buffalo.

Sarge had out his .45 pointed at the dumb critter’s head.
He yelled, “Papasan, come on down, or your goddamn cow is dead!”

Now Sarge he`d done two tours; he was wise to the ways of the bush.
He knew Papasan would hurt no cow, if shove ever came to push.

So a thousand armed Americans encircling that hill and tree
All held their breath as one and sat waiting there to see.

Finally that ancient rifle came rolling down that hill.
Hands high, out came Papasan yelling, “NO KILL, NO KILL!”

Well, what happened to old Papasan, I guess you`d like to know,
Did we shoot the tough old bastard or did we let him go.

Well, we all looked at Sarge and this is what he`d done:
He traded Charlie that buffalo for that rusted out old gun.

So that old man just walked away with his water buffalo
Back to his lush rice paddies where you reap just what you sow.

And as I turned to look at Sarge I saw a sad look on his face.
He looked down at that rifle and said, “I`ll never understand this place.”–

Author Unknown –
Furnished by Wayne Hastings
B/1/501

Photo by Kenneth Lampert, Pixels

Originally posted on the LZSally.com website.

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