Waterboarding
Russell Stockard Jr.
You know it’s not gonna be
like some scene from
a Bond, James Bond, flick,
the torture master getting off
on watching you writhe and squirm,
pain containing your organs like
a sweaty suffocating plastic produce bag
carrying nectarines
Years ago, you knew
victims of this horror
and wondered
if their exile status from
the first 9/11, Chilean style,
could have posed
a public health hazard,
setting a time bomb
with a delayed fuse,
detonating the last vestiges
of decent churchgoing
restraint in our own
clean-cut interrogators
You realize now
that breathing is optional,
that the sodden towel draped over
your face muffles your screams,
that no one will award
medals for your surviving,
and that Lady Liberty,
up ‘til now
free from her own
asphyxiating burkah,
cannot shed a single tear
for your agony
November 13, 2007
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