"Cadet" by Erica Bodwell

[audio mp3="http://barnstormjournal.org/content/wp-content/uploads/2013/12/cadet-louder.mp3"][/audio]Eric. Whom I couldn't help but fuckwithin hours of laying eyes on his Officer and a Gentleman face.Who sent me intricate, violent drawings on graph paperfrom his summer post at West Point. Who, ordered to hazethe Plebes, wouldn't. Who said, I hate the fuckers.Who shrugged, It was either lead 'em or follow 'em.Who hated shooting, fell purposely to the bottomof his class, invited me to the Ring Dance,then said, I can't see your shape,and pulled his regulation belt tight at my waist. Who racedacross the room to go down on me. Who layamong the sheets in my first double bedand traced his lovely, gun-scented fingers along my lifeline.Who would only swim in pools.Whom I know in webby summer morning dreamsby the sharp cut of his soldier's jaw,the crisp snap of his dress whites, the soundbrass buttons made against my teeth.Who said, the last time we had sex,I know how I'm going to die. Who did.Erica Bodwell is a poet living in Concord, NH. Her poems have been published in Stone Highway Review, Cactus Heart, Red River Review, Alliterati, Cobalt, and other fine journals.