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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=373701" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Clothes</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Walking back to the office after lunch, <br>I saw Hans. “Mister Isham, Mister Isham,” <br>He called out in his hurry, “Herr Wegner needs you. <br>A woman waiting for a border pass <br>Took poison, she is dead, and the police <br>Are there to take the body.” In the hall, <br>The secretaries stood outside their doors <br>Silently waiting with Wegner. “Sir,” he said, <br>“It was her answer on the questionnaire, <br>A clerk for the Gestapo. So it was.” <br>Within the outer office, by the row <br>Of wooden chairs, one lying on its side, <br>On the discolored brown linoleum floor <br>Under a GI blanket was the lost <br>Unmoving shape; uncovered, from a fold, <br>A dirty foot half out of a dirty shoe, <br>Once white, heel bent, the sole worn through, the skin <br>Bruised red and calloused, uncut toenails curved <br>And veined like an old ivory. No one spoke. <br>Police stood at attention by a stretcher. <br>After an empty moment, suddenly <br>Bent over as if taken by a cramp, <br>I sobbed out loud and, on my uniform, <br>Vomited up my lunch—over the tie, <br>The polished buttons and insignia, <br>The little strips of color and the green <br>Eisenhower jacket with its Eagle patch, <br>The taut pants in a crease, the glistening jump-boots— <br>Vomiting and still sobbing, like a child <br>Awakened in the night, and sick. Wegner and Hans <br>Held me, murmuring, “Ach, dear sir, the war <br>Is over and not over, such things happen.” <br>While no one else moved, Frau Schmidt brought a towel <br>To clean me off before Hans walked me back, <br>My arm across his shoulders and I retelling <br>The story of how, near Zell am See, we found, <br>Hung from a tree in leaf, the final sack <br>Of bones, in rotted Wehrmacht green. In the house <br>An SS lord had furnished for his mistress— <br>Deep sofas, Persian rugs, and velvet drapes— <br>Frau König took my clothes. In my own room, <br>Wearing the Gucci robe Bouchard had taken <br>From a fine house before we got to Ulm, <br>Instead of lying down to rest, I studied <br>The book I read for German with Frau Schmidt, <br>Goethe’s Italian Journey. Through the window, <br>The Watchman’s upper slopes were shadows, green <br>And purple with the afternoon, its snows <br>Melting, its double peaks the victory sign.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Edgar+Bowers">Edgar Bowers</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=373701" data-title="Clothes de Edgar Bowers" data-description="Walking back to the office after lunch, 
I saw Hans. “Mister Isham, Mister Isham,” 
He called out in his hurry, “Herr Wegner needs you. 
A woman waiting for a border pass 
Took poison, she is dead, and the police 
Are there to take the body...."></div>
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