The Viewing of Miss Saigon

Theatre is filled with buzzing,

people talking in low tones,

as we greet one another

and talk about the show.

 

Crowd assembled in anticipation

of what they soon would witness,

will it be better than Madame Butterfly?

Hush falls over the crowd.

 

We marveled as the lights fell.

the orchestra begins to play,

The stage looks like a battlefield,

so detailed in every way.

 

We watch intently, emotions whirling,

as the story unfolds before our eyes.

Vietnam Veterans restless, uneasy.

They know. They Know.

 

House lights rise and illuminate

tear streaked faces, tissues in hand,

Vietnam Veterans hang their heads,

collect themselves and rise.

 

We relieve ourselves and re-fill

with wine, beer, and martinis.

We file into the theatre,

eagerly anticipating the finale.

 

Will he live? Will she find him again?

Vietnam Veterans know the end,

They lived this story.

They know. They know.

 

The crowd watches, unable to breathe.

The fight is intense.

As one the crowd sighs with relief,

the hero lives.

 

The room vibrates and hearts race.

In awe the crowd looks above,

from the ceiling a helicopter appears,

thunderous blades whirling.

 

At the chain-linked fence she screams.

Miss Saigon, papers in hand,

Begs, pleads for freedom granted

Only to be shoved away like garbage

 

We watch in anger, heartbroken.

Vietnam Veterans shed tears.

They lived this nightmare.

They know. They know.

 

The house lights rise once again.

The crowd rises, slowly, solemnly.

No one speaks. We do not dare.

Now we know. Now we know.