Poetry: Der Kriegsglück, IV-VI

Der Kriegsglück continues. The first two segments deal with the Americans, the third with the guy who started it all.

IV.

The brown waves of the Elbe cast a frame on sorrow and defeat.

I will look across.

Will you dare me?

Listen and pray—hold the savior’s cross.

This is not the Detroit River—Windsor across the way.

Past rumrunners—tires on ice—cash in a pocket.

A pat on the head—Purple Gangs and cold whiskey.

No, this is not foolish youth and adventure across the long water.

But death, 25 times over. So many dead.

Feel their sorrow—it’s in the air like songs.

V.

Yankees are naïve, standing in Government Issue boots

Perched in Motor City jeeps.

Full bellies and unshaved faces.

Eyes of the new killers.

Whispers and memories.

Look there, only tattered Teutonic soldiers beyond the bridges

Surrender like glass queens—fragile scepters of power now lost.

Run from the Reds. So many. So brutal. So hungry.

“Surrender.” We surrender. Our blood is thin.

Take my gun Joe. Bitte.

VI.

Glorious chieftain. Betrayed.

Surrounded. Accused.

Die like Alcibiades.

No arrows here.

Pistol to the head.