by Jerry Ratch
Flew a Messerschmitt.
Drove a tank over people in Poland
though not in Prague,
and claimed he was never a guard
at the death camps.
Knew nothing about it.
Didn't hear the rumors,
knew nothing, saw less.
Was afraid to stop,
or turn and run,
or simply say No, Nein,
Never, never, never.
Learned Zen
while driving his tank
over people in Poland
and anyway it was over
so fast, it went by
like a blitz,
and he could go back home
until the bombs began
raining down over Dresden
and he could no longer
get anywhere in his tank.
Then took to drinking. That way
didn't have to think.
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This could be about my great-uncle, Jerry. The Zen this here was unexpected, though in a way made perfect, sad sense.
Strong poem.
Loved that stanza with the Zen. Makes sense to me.*
"...though not in Prague." Saving grace, evidently, for the scheisskopf. *
Poweful.
*, Jerry. You nailed the rampant denials and your terminology is first class,