To the Artist's Page                  To our home page

To B. Z. Niditch's previous piece     To B. Z. Niditch's next piece

Occupation

Why do they hate us?
the short haranguing legionnaire
with the thin rabbit mouth
talking up a predictable storm
or the crimson-faced guard
from the Palatinate
devouring seven runways
in a chain of months,
reprobate bastards all.
We the beggared and undefended
pose near the city gates
by the statues of horses.

I wanted open sky,
even a riddled rain
to fall as shadow games
from a harrowed heaven,
just once to get revenge
on our Marbourg captors,
to have no walls,
bread when we think of it,
to even paint or rhyme
in little-known notebooks
but here in the grime
somewhere between two armies
we strain for rumours
to survive another day.

To the top of this page