Ich Bin Ein Berliner
My love is a two-front war
I’ve invaded Russia and my feet are getting cold.
With a caress, a blitzkrieg,
I breached his defenses.
I drank the tasteless vodka of his land,
Relegated the musk of his skin to the ghettos.
The blast of his voice beats against me,
The staccato of gun fire.
And I retreat, leaving him with the sight
Of snow-dusted bodies.
Home, Germany,
Where I can freely taste my voice,
Fresh baked bread.
Home, Berlin,
Where Eichmann and I strategized.
My love is a one-front war.
France, home to wine and women
Where the beast with two backs
Switched to scissoring.
The reparations were monstrous,
And it made a monster out of me.
Je ne peux pas parler français
Was the only phrase I knew by heart.
The foggy streets of women,
Impossible to navigate
As impenetrable as silk.
And I could feel, for once
Anglerfish that swallowed her bait
But the war would fail, soon, tomorrow,
And the lure would reappear
A bony temptation.
With my desires fulfilled,
I lost the war in order to win
Mein herz ist bitter.
-published in “A” Literary Journal Fall 2010-Spring 2011 Edition
