To Listen to Music While Reading this Poem, just Click Here!
Click Here To add this poem to your "Voting Possibilities" list!
Nazi Princess I was the stage door john, compresing my lips as you, swamped in louts, burst from the wings with that feckless abandon of yours, feasting on applause. In the arrogance of melancholia I would have shot myself any one of those intoxicant nights on the Reeperbahn, another dull statistic beyond the footlights. You were abloom in mid-career; your lead role in the ultimate snuff movie came to its nadir with the Master of the Great Master Race, while I, clanking to the east with my Panzer Division, bloomed in a Ukranian fire garden. I, too, served Mein Fuerer, but from a safe distance, if you please. |
Additional Notes:
France Poems
The Glass Cherry
The Bay Review
The Creative Reading Series Magazine
Sorry, there are no critiques for this poem in our system... If the poem is older, the critiques have been purged!