heard in movies. “Atten-
Shun!”
he cries and they leap
to their feet.
“Yes, Sir!”
“Louder!”
“Faster!”
“Yes, Sir!”
they cry—jumping up and down—collapsing
then rising

off the floor, a loop of film seen over
and over.
Parents watch
from a bench—
backs to the wall—
learn what uniforms have to tell:
colors signal levels of buy-in; belts, badges,
stripes announce each child’s

proficiency. The close-
clipped salesman chats
with my uncombed teen, chides
him at “yeah,” then asks
does he clean his room,
turn off the TV, listen at home
and respect his mother,
to which the fast liar replies, “Yes, Sir.”

(previously published by Cup of Poems)

Other poems by Wendy Vardaman