From somewhere back, a light keeps flashing: A billboard asking me to sleep. Downstairs, my neighbor is bathing. I hear him humming a polka. I hear him thinking about me: "What does she do when I can't hear her marching?" I'll never tell him I dream of the army. I could've enlisted, been a sergeant by now. Downing brown whiskey and cursing civilians. If I were a soldier, I'd be sleeping by now, my helmet full of rumble and letters from Mother. Instead, I am wakeful, Remembering you in your white, loose, all-over summer and constantly giggling.