Author’s Note: In the late 60s, when I was a teenager, we were all anti-war—the war in Vietnam. The guys had to register for the draft as soon as they turned eighteen. The you of this poem opted to join the Navy, although it was a six-year tour of duty, betting that it would be safer than fighting in a ground war. When he got out, he had nowhere to go, so he came to live with me (and five other girls), near my university. Sure, he said he loved me.
You should have heard just what I’ve seen —Bo Diddley
Maybe a pinky swear’s as good as a wedding, but this one
was doomed, even though you inscribed toujours on
the poetry book you bought me for my birthday.
Never mind that if you’d died I wouldn’t have been listed
in your obit as next of kin. I don’t have much use for jewelry.
You arrived (after six years in the Navy, threatening to re-up
if I didn’t take you in)—with a reel-to-reel tape recorder
and a Gibson, could fingerpick, play blues and slide like an angel,
do a bang-up Peggy Sue like a reincarnated Buddy Holly.
Before long, you’d charmed all the girls. So the day I saw you
fasten the clasp on Kristine’s necklace, your kiss on her neck
like the asp that bit Cleopatra—your bad, my ouch—I knew you
weren’t even sure you liked girls, so it wasn’t supposed to matter—
the last or the next or Ken’s head in your lap while we watched
re-runs of Star Trek, not even your trembling confession that you
caught up where you’d left off six years before with my sister.
You started each day with a quart of Genessee, once came home
so pissed you actually pissed in the fireplace, wrestling with me
when I tried to steer you to the bathroom. We finally found
a cheap Victorian to rent, but we couldn’t afford the heat.
And the waterbed exploded in the night like a bomb.
When I hear “Who Do You Love,” I will always think of you
and wonder if you are alive, and, if you are, where you are living.
Diane K. Martin lives in West County, Sonoma, California. Her work has appeared in American Poetry Review, Field, Harvard Review, Kenyon Review, Laurel Review, Narrative, Plume, and many other journals and anthologies. A poem received a Pushcart Special Mention, and another won first prize from the journal Smartish Pace. Her first book, Conjugated Visits, a National Poetry Series finalist, was published by Dream Horse Press. Her second collection, Hue & Cry, was published by MadHat Press.
