Sleeping in Dick Cheney’s Bed† by Brian Turner   I first encountered Wilfred Owen’s poem “Dulce et Decorum Est” as the text set for a literature analysis exam in high school.  I sat in the last seat of the row farthest from the door; it was easy to steal a glance out the window behind me. Across the valley, beyond the line of winter-lit trees edging the hilltop campus, the clustered spires of Frederick, Maryland spiked against the snow-filled sky. The timer on the teacher’s desk clicked on as pens scratched against paper. When the wind picked up, the plastic sheeting that lined the wall of windows to keep in the heat crackled like a surreal metronome. By then, I’d watched my mother starch…