Tony Grist (poliphilo) wrote,
Tony Grist
poliphilo

Rifleman

 A poem arrives- and sometimes another travels in the slipstream. This is the one that hitched a lift. We'll call it Rifleman

Rifleman

I had a swastika
On my sleeve-
Not a good look
I now believe

Also a gun
And boots to stamp
And a tower looking over
A prison camp.

The air was cold,
The food was bad,
I missed my mum
If not my dad-
At least it wasn't
Stalingrad.

But Russians came
With furry hats.
Our prisoners hunted us
Like rats-

Three of whom
Murdered me
While I looked down
From the top of a tree. 


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