When I came to my laurelled rest at Dai Ichi, overlooking the grey, plain, immutable quadrangle a crooning Tokyo Rose had sworn I'd be hanged at, giving the timid botanist-emperor an American-made smoke 5 in his claw-hammered tux, he mumbled gags about his own execution through his stuttering translation-man! My marrow went white with fire; I was abashed to see such an elegant little fish as himself fluttering against the grainy, post-post-war land. 10 My nobler soul followed his rollercoaster's flash from artificial heights to the Lay-Z-Boy my officers unfurled beneath him; how had we skidded together to these digs? When he told his people he'd forgotten how to be God, scratching a nimbus of lichen from some sea-rock, we won the war. 15 He waved goodbye like the xmas pine we buried in the sand."
From the collection "Contemporaries"
Written by Gregg Glory [Gregg G. Brown]
More information available on gregglory.com.