My daddy wasn’t happy when he was drafted to Vietnam.
he was 19.
one of two kids from his neighborhood
– Loma Park, on the Westside of San Anto –
to come back.
alive.
he wasn’t happy when
he knew he had PTSD
and wanted
– needed –
help.
the VA told him he was fine.
when he went back 3 years later,
insisting he was not “fine”
or happy
they said he was fine again
and denied him any help.
or compassion.
My mom’s brother wasn’t happy when he was drafted to Vietnam.
he was 18.
from the Southside of San Anto.
a pachuco, coolest of cool. creative. business man.
hustler.
he wasn’t happy when
the tank exploded.
he got out. but his best friend didn’t.
my uncle went back to get his body
knowing he was en trozos.
in pieces.
He wasn’t happy when
his trauma was made synonymous
with courage
in the form of a purple heart.
mama’s sons.
brothers.
uncles.
cousins.
husbands.
fathers.
humans
robbed
survived.
Theres nothing happy about the VA.
or the US Government.
Or imperialism.
There’s nothing happy about veterans day.
GABRIELLA V. SANCHEZ 