Rehabilitating Joseph Adams

Rehabilitating

Joseph Adams

They caught him with the pictures—

drawings in ink

he'd done during free hour

holding the notebook up

close to his face like

he might be

writing his mother

or doing homework

The pictures had come

that night

after the first session

with her

he couldn't forget her

fingers, the one nail

broken, and he'd wondered

how she broke it

that's what he was thinking

when she asked him

Would you like to talk

about why you're here

Joe?

Joe, not Cadet Adams

not Private

but Joe

and he couldn't talk but

he met her eyes

her blue eyes her

soft smile

and the pictures just

came to him

all night

and he tried pressing them

out of his eyes

with his palms

but he loved

the pictures

in which he loved

her

and she, him

so he placed them

on the paper

during free time

so he could return to them

whenever

so they wouldn't

be lost

and he wondered again

how she broke that

fingernail, some tenderness

swelling his throat,

he planned to take it gently into

his hands, kiss her

knuckles

smell the perfume

of her closeness

and hold her

so he wrote at the bottom

Miss Hayes, Ma'am

this private loves you

Ma'am,

this private dreamed

all night of you

Miss Hayes, Ma'am and

this here is what he

dreamed, Ma'am

could he see you

sometime

Ma'am?

They've caught him with the pictures

Drill Instructor Brucker

shouting, What is this

Cadet Adams?

M-m-m some mighty pretty

pictures—

You think I should give

these lovelies

to Miss Hayes?

No Sir

No Sir, Cadet

No sir-ee

I think you should

give them to Miss Hayes

Don't you Cadet? Don't

you think an

invitation

should be hand-delivered?

No Sir

Please Sir, this Private will throw

them away

Sir, he was

out of line, Sir

and Brucker lowers

his voice

through a smile, chuckles

You're damn right Joe, out of

line

and Brucker turns, moves to

the door

But I think I will

show them to her, after all

Miss Hayes'll get a laugh

out of a prick

like you, Adams

and Cadet Adams,

still at attention

closes his eyes

sees no more pictures

of Miss Hayes—

only Brucker

Brucker laughing

Brucker turning

Brucker blood-red

Brucker, Brucker, dead