Auckland Poetry.com

Nazism and the Belgian Chef

In Belgium, I read, a TV chef has been fired and
The program axed. He cooked dishes famous people
through history liked. All went well, till he cooked
Herr. Hitler’s favourite dish, fried trout with sour
cream. People protested, this was to humanize Hitler
and our chef was fired for having bad taste (pun?)
It is quite naïve to believe that by not mentioning
Hitler, the towering inferno of the twentieth century,
they can somehow wish him away by making him
into a monster without human feelings and emotions.
Alas, he was so very human and real, there are many
as him walking around and giving half the chance
will behave just as Herr. Hitler did.

The Lady and the Tramp

I took the bus from Ellesmere Port to Birkenhead,

from there the underground to Liverpool, walked

to Hanover Street; took a rickety lift up four floors

to a studio where Miss Summers tried to teach me

to speak posh English. A hopeless task my Norse

accent refused to be relegated clung to my throat

like phlegm, the size of a jelly fish, and anyway,

when Miss Summer said my own voice was sexy

I decided to take acting lessons with her instead.

Alas this didn’t last; the doctor said I was fit to go

back to sea and I was sent to join a ship in Aruba.

I loved Miss Summers used to meet her secretly in ´

Southport on her days off, impressed me with her

noble manners it was like making love to a duchess.

The problem with being a seafarer is that when he

returns, life ashore has moved on. My teacher lady

had an acting job, when I rang her voice was arctic

and, yes, she had also gone and married a doctor.