of last night’s air-raid, that Mr. Meyer
wasn’t taking phone calls this morning.
The widows waiting for their rations
rued that all the troubadours
had been re-assigned to the Eastern Front.
The carefully-catalogued smoke in the distance
wondered if Eros hadn’t been lost somehow,
just shy of the Baltic coast.
The returning amputees, discreetly encamped
outside distant villages, laughed with the Devil
while bells, of what churches still stood, rang.
Siegfried, however, was still appointed Reichsprotektor
of all Rome, even though everyone was terrified
to tell the Fuhrer he was actually only a character
By Adam Henry Carriere
Adam Henry Carriere is a poet, teacher, and broadcaster who has crashed five states, committed radio in three, frolicked in some fifteen countries, and even played on three Navy ships before Rummy got wise. He also edits Danse Macabre.
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