He Was Right

Poor man; he's fagged. He also seems depressed.
In London's dirty air, a few years past the War
To End All Wars, he moves morosely among
Drawing rooms, an affluent and educated Yank
Too well-bred for his home, but still uneasy.
Spouting German, French and babble, not
Exactly sure if he should chase the butler
Or the maid, he stares at bric-a-brac
And broods, unwittingly personifying
Curtains drawing on an age. Goodbye
Voltaire and Diderot. Hello, Herr Freud
And Dr. Leary. Aircraft engines roar
Above. A madman stalks the streets of Munich.
One more round of carnage nears. Our sad sack
Tells his tale of woe. A waste land is what
He's described, and, we, one hundred years
Behind, confirm what he has seen.




Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 140 times
Written on 2019-02-02 at 02:41

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