Why I Never Wrote about the Army

Four hours a night 
and we slept with our rifles,
strap twined around skinny forearms,
brass and ammo locked away
and catch on safety.
Drill Sergeant Robinson warned 
that if he snuck 
into our shelter halves
and nabbed a rifle, 
why, we’d be pushing
Fort Dix off the map. 
We laughed, our voices too high,
our camouflage paint cracking 
into frightened, toothy grins.
He held a rifle over his head:  
“For the next eight weeks, 
this is your boyfriend!”
I thought, “girlfriend.”  


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