The following is a collection of poems about Vietnam veterans and how their lives were forever changed by the horrific effects of the herbicidal warfare compound known as Agent Orange.

A Life Without Guard Rails

You think you got problems?

You probably do but would

you trade with Phillip,

a Vietnam vet who still thinks

Agent Orange lurks in

every puddle he steps

around after a heavy rain,

who shovels snow,

cuts lawns and rakes leaves

to make his disability

check go further?

He has a snow shovel

but someone stole his mower

and the grass is growing

and customers are waiting.

He saved three months

to buy a used car to replace

the van that died and that car

died yesterday in the street but

the payments are still due.

Some people think Phillip

causes his own problems

but no one has the answer

as to how he can change

a life that hasn't changed

much since Vietnam.

It took ten years

to qualify for disability.

He’s been doing odd jobs

and he’ll keep doing them

until he can no longer walk.

He says a Veterans Home

has promised to take him in.

Donal Mahoney

Vacillating Benny and Monsanto Max

Vacillating Benny, an ancient chemist

now retired from Monsanto, must decide

if a poem his friend Ron has sent him

is good enough for his hobby journal.

Benny finally decides to let the poem

marinate for another month

without sending Ron a reply.

Maybe it will sound better later on.

A month later, Benny asks his dog,

Monsanto Max, for an editorial opinion.

Bolstered by his dog's advice,

Benny sends Ron a note:

"I'm considering your poem

and will get back to you later

with a quasi-final decision."

How might you respond if you were Ron,

a retired professor who wrote his poem

while teaching English in Vietnam.

Ron decided to send old Benny

three cases of Dom Perignon,

each bottle filled with Agent Orange.

Ron hopes Benny will have

the time he needs to decide if

his poem's worthy of publication.

Ron remembers decades ago

when they were young and in their prime

and his old friend Benny was

First Vice President at Monsanto.

Ever decisive, Benny quickly approved

new applications for Agent Orange.

Donal Mahoney

Allowances Can Be Made

Oliver Jones, now gray and grizzled, has

cut the Miller's lawn for years. A Vietnam vet,

a victim of Agent Orange, Oliver's getting old,

almost as old as the Millers, his friends for years.

Recently he’s left ridges and tufts

in the lawn Mr. Miller’s eyes can’t see

but his wife has mentioned the problem.

After Oliver’s been paid with a good tip,

Mrs. Miller often rolls her wheelchair

over to the window and tells her husband

they should find someone else to cut the lawn,

someone who won’t leave ridges and tufts.

But the thing of it is, Oliver’s been leaving

ridges and tufts for at least five years,

long before Mr. Miller lost his sight and

Mrs. Miller was confined to a wheelchair.

Donal Mahoney

Earthquake in the Yard

He’s a vet from Vietnam

who won’t say much about

what happened over there

except to say his problem

began with Agent Orange,

the breathing problem he has

cutting grass, raking leaves

and shoveling snow,

the only work anyone

will hire him to do.

The money helps him live

on what the government

gives him but that’s not much

because it’s obvious

the man's not living well.

Watching him mow grass

from an upstairs window

on a sultry day and have

him stop and cough so

many times, you want to

pay him not to mow but

know that won't work.

The man can’t breathe

but he still has pride.

So you pay him well,

force him to take a tip

and wonder if some day

he’ll fall on his mower

or maybe on the grass

and won’t get up at all,

the earthquake coughing

being what it is,

ripping him apart.

Donal Mahoney

Fireworks after Vietnam

Joe went to the mall yesterday

and found a big tent pitched

at the head of the drive.

Someone selling fireworks.

The sign said discounts

for all veterans.

Joe thought of his brother Bob

after his return from Vietnam,

a victim of Agent Orange.

He would shake if he heard

sudden or violent noises.

He got rid of his guns and

never went hunting again.

Bob didn’t want rifles

shot over his body after he died,

an honor some veterans prefer.

His wife wanted the ceremony.

Joe cried when the volleys were fired.

He could feel his brother

shake inside the urn.

Donal Mahoney

Vowel Movement

When a writer lacks

verbs and nouns

he's the victim of

writer's block.

His mind may house

too many consonants,

too few vowels.

Without vowels,

his consonants congeal

and become a mass.

The result is

verbal constipation.

The only cure,

some doctors say,

is a very big

vowel movement,

larger than a loaf

of pumpernickel

or a Seinfeld

marble rye.

Some writers,

desperate for

a very big

vowel movement,

try dynamite.

Not good.

Other writers tout

Agent Orange,

Monsanto's legacy

in Vietnam

dropped off

half a century ago.

But Agent Orange

is not the answer

for writer's block.

It melts a writer

slowly and melts

as well

generations of

his descendants

as it has for years

In Vietnam where

the great-grandchildren

of innocent farmers

whose crops

were sprayed

with Agent Orange

are born deformed.

They are the new lepers

from Monsanto,

not from Molokai.

On the streets

the children startle tourists

from Boston and New York

who are munching on

delightful spring rolls

dipped in lovely sauces

at outdoor cafe tables

under big umbrellas

that ward off

the burning

noonday sun.

Donal Mahoney