for Bob Stein

We were driving north, through the snow, you said
you’d turned 21 during Vietnam, you were
1-A. The road curved
and curved back, the branches laden, you
said you’d decided not to go
to Canada. Which meant you’d decided to
go to jail, a slender guy of
21, which meant you’d decided to be
raped rather than to kill, if it was their
life or your ass, it was your ass.