General Craig and The Major go to night school.

Polly returns. “Major—get word to Rose.
Bob’s gone; I’m on the trail. Now be a dear
And turn your back while I take off my clothes
To change.” The Major doesn’t seem to hear.

No time for modesty. They’re near a showdown.
She clears her throat. “Major, if you don’t mind, you
Could help me get back in the field. Just throw down
My cargo pants—they’re on the shelf behind you.”

Still no response. The Major’s looking wan.
She shrugs her shoulders as she’s shrugged her garments.
She’s got no option but to climb upon
His lap to reach up to the top compartment.

She hears a sudden sharp intake of breath.
The door creaks on its hinge (there’s been no knock).
She turns to see blue-veined Elizabeth,
A clenched fist lifted to her mouth in shock.

She’s in flagrante now—The Major’s nose is
A sawed-off shotgun’s length from her pudenda.
Can’t blame this on Elizabeth’s neurosis.
Now, like a less-than-fortunate Wallenda,

See Polly wobble, topple, crashing floorward;
But to The Major, whether she exists
Seems of no consequence. Now darting forward
Elizabeth lashes out with boots and fists.

“Tell her I wasn’t...” Polly's eyes implore.
Elizabeth unleashes a barrage.
The Major stares beyond them, rapt. The door
Trembles as if a heat-induced mirage

Has turned it from mahogany to ether.
It then takes on a spectral form, or maybe a
Figure emerges from it, looking like Peter
O’Toole in Lawrence of Arabia.

“General Craig...?” The Major asks the vision.
Elizabeth looks up. Polly’s barely conscious.
“It is you, then? I’ve always had suspicions...”
The General reaches out a hand and touches

Polly’s limp neck. She stirs and rises, healed.
The blood is wiped away, her eyes unblacked;
She’s clad demurely in a chenille
Housecoat, her bones and cartilage intact.

“But where’s my knapsack, tiger boots and cammos?”
Cries Polly. “It’s Carlene I’m needed for.”
“For you it’s fuzzy slippers, curlers, jammos,”
The general says. “Your daughter needs you more.

Carlene must struggle through her own duress;
The time’s now past for you to play the part
Of demon lover, mad adventuress:
Your last frontier is your maternal heart.”

Elizabeth is flushed with primal power
She’s never felt before. She likes the feeling.
A gesture with her fist makes Polly cower,
A knee between the shoulders sends her reeling.

But righteous frenzy’s not a drug so potent
As to corrupt for long a heart that’s wise.
Elizabeth’s used up her vengeance quotient;
Her mother looks at her with rueful eyes.

“From now on,” Polly vows, “we’ll form a bund,
A mother and a daughter uber alles.
I’ll guarantee to let no winsome blonde,
No buxom frau, no ingenue, no callous

Wrecker of homes come near The Major.” “Be that
As it may,” her daughter says, “no man
Is ever faithful. None can guarantee that.”
From out of darkness, General Craig says, “I can.”

With everything they know, this is at variance.
True, they’re from diametrically opposed
Ends of the spectrum of experience,
But nothing, either certain or supposed,

Supports this notion. “General,” says Polly,
“Don’t ask us to accept what cannot be:
Orchids in winter, meaning from a Dali,
Soul from Pat Boone, or male monogamy.”

“Look at him,” General Craig commands. And sure
Enough, he’s changed: his eyes are sager,
They glow from deep within him with the pure
Insight of the beatified. “Now, Major,”

The general says, “What have you learned?” He stirs,
And whispers, as if to himself, “The secret
Is simple. Every woman has what’s hers,
And hers alone. No matter where you seek it,

Or what forbidden honeypots you taste,
Or where you plunge, the answer isn’t there.
That answer’s only found in the embrace
Of one who loves you best.” The women stare

In shocked surprise. Elizabeth asks, “Dearest...?”
“It happens to all men, dear. I’ve grown wiser,
Enlightenment has come. My vision’s clearest,
My values soundest...though your mother’s thighs are...”

“Major!” the General interjects. “Quite so,”
The Major acquiesces. Now the light
Around him softens, glows. “And now I go
To teach these lessons in the school of night.”

The Major rises slowly. “That is why
You’ve come, sir?” “Yes, old comrade, you’ve enrolled,
Night school’s begun.” “Just let me say goodbye
And kiss my dearest one last kiss, and hold

Her close, and tell her what I understand,
At last, of men and women, peace and war
And love and sex...” The general takes his hand:
“Come on, lad. She can’t hear you any more.”