Something Forty Five Something

The women of Berlin

Searched stockyards as the Russian troops closed in

For cow manure still contains some calories, you know

And children have to eat

Not boys past twelve, of course

From house to church to school to store

Eight blocks away, they fought

In uniforms all baggy on their skinny limbs

Lugged rifles and grenades in wild despair

Were ripped like gruesome dolls

To guard the Bunker.

The women of Berlin

Looked on the even smaller boys

Eyes bright as hope

And shrank from any thought

Of what time held

For boys like these

For who would teach them now

How to be men?