THE THERESIENHOHE, MUNICH

I SIT IN A SPATEN BIERGARTEN
AND REFLECT, ON THE THERESIENHOHE,
ON THE BUSINESS OF BOMBS
AND FORCED PICNICS IN YUGOSLAVIA.

THE SPRING SUN CASTS UV RAYS
AS NO OTHER SUN CAN.
TWO LOVERS PASS BY, SHE SQUAT,
SKIRT UP TO HER BUTTOCKS, BLOODLESS TAN,

SMUT BLOND HAIR TOPPED BY A
COWBOY HAT SIZES TOO
LARGE, HE TALL, IN JEANS SO TIGHT
EVERY PIMPLE ON HIS REAR CHEEKS PEEPS THROUGH,

ON HIS ARMY SURPLUS JACKET 'SEX NOT WAR'.
IT IS TRUE!  SEX HAS NO CHOICE
BUT TO GROW WHERE IT MUST AS BOMBS
FALLING HAVE NO OPTION BUT TO VOICE

THEIR SHRILL PHILOSOPHY AS THEY FALL:
'YOU NAME IT, WE MAIM IT', WHILE
SOMEWHERE ELSE LOVE STILL SINGS THOUGH SOFTER NOW
OF THE HONEY IN US, NOT THE BILE.

© R.G. Bishop