Made to assume unnatural position
in hellish circumstance,
his spirit’s broken from this
degradation,
humiliation.

Forced to move again: hand here,
leg here. I shall make you as I wish
 you to be seen, soldier hisses.
Evil traitors,
these liberators.

The two of them stripped naked,
poked, prodded, probed,
nudged with the rifle butt into
flooded cell,
told to sleep sound, well.

The laughter echoes down
an endless corridor of shame
and morning brings
more taunts and jeers,
more horrors, more fears.

Private first class does her job,
follows “orders.” Fingers point
in directions as numerous as
Iraqis stacked,
trusts broken and cracked.

All the prisoner remembers is
the torment of her laughter
trickling through dark dreams. 
He can’t escape  
her smile’s brutal rape

of his soul.