Nazis at home


Nazis at home

They’ve been marching
in their skin’s pale uniforms,
gleaming like boot black
in the torchlight.

At home, they plop
in their easy chairs,
foot sore and weary
and untie their bitter laces

soon they’ll hold their cheek
against the dark, not waiting
for kisses, but for the warm breath
that tells them there’s life

because their fear
winds around their
sleeping children
heavy as black lung

and they cannot hear
the heart beat
of their young
above their own

or distinguish them
from the tender camouflage
of shadow in the black -skinned
arms of night.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s