Thursday, January 8, 2015

Sy Roth- A Poem

Roland Freisler’s Gesang

the shepherd barked.
Mein Schatzi, Barry, so true,
Roland’s retort.

He did it, didn’t he?
Growly woof-bark
in the affirmative.
Wolfish gargle lodged  in his throat
Volcanic testimony,
a Vesuvius eruption of assent
reverberates from the bench.
Spectator muddle of mudlicious dithering echoes.

The prisoner
held his pants up
arms out like a flightless penguin.
Shoulders slumped,
Head bent in defeat
eyes glued to his eyebrows .

Growling hound,
and Freisler sang their growling ditty--
Wagnerian tango to the condemned.

Gleeful woof barks follow
Barry’s tongue slathering from the side
Sniffing disdainfully at the shuffling prisoner
Swallowed into the conga line crush 
of waddling prisoners.

Barry was right, of course.
Always was.
They had no say.
Freisler proffered his schatzi a biscuit,
Patted his head--
con amore.

Woof, Barry lovingly answered.
Both content to judge,
To devolve into their safer world.  

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