Fair Exchange
Two soldiers sat in the rubble
Out by the Berlin autobahn,
Schulz had once been an artist, while
Ludwig came from a farm,
They huddled down as the allied planes
Roared over, dropping their bombs,
The war was pretty well done with,
They were going back to their homes.
Their Units long had been shattered
As they retreated over the Seine,
While Hitler raved in his bunker
That they should hold out, just the same,
They knew their lives would be forfeit
If they were seen there, out in the street,
So only moved in the darkness,
Prayed for the peace that came with defeat.
They each of them carried a shoulder pack
Of things they were taking back,
Some bread, a twist of tobacco
Something to barter for Cognac,
Ludwig's pack seemed to wriggle about,
To Schulz it was awful big,
And so, to allay curiosity,
He told Schulz, it was a pig!
‘I'll need it back on the farm,
Something to breed from in the peace,
The army took all our livestock,
And the farm is still on a lease.
My wife is probably starving
And the kids won't know me at all,
I found it in a deserted farm
And I plucked it over a wall.'
‘And what have you got in your pack, '
Ludwig asked, ‘a chicken or two? '
‘Or maybe a slice of bratwurst,
Give me a look, I'm hungry too! '
‘Nothing that you could eat, ' said Schulz,
‘I've a painting by Matisse,
Part of the plunder of Goering,
Fell off a truck that was heading east.'
The ground was shaking with falling bombs,
They had to cover their ears,
‘I've had enough of this war, ' said Schulz,
His eyes were filling with tears,
Then out of the firestorm came a man
Stumbling through the gap,
With an SS badge at his collar
And a Death's Head badge on his cap.
He pulled out his Luger, covered them,
And sneered at the uniform,
‘Another couple of cowards, eh?
You'll wish you'd never been born!
The Fuhrer says I should shoot you now,
So tell me, why should you live? '
‘The war is done, if you let us run,
We may have something to give.'
So Ludwig opened his pack a shade
And showed the soldier his pig,
‘You can have yourself a mighty roast,
You won't find another as big.'
‘And you, what prize can you offer me? '
‘I've got a real Matisse…'
‘I'll take it all, ' said the SS man,
‘It'll sit on my mantelpiece! '
He took the packs and he backed on out
Went stumbling out in the blitz,
When suddenly there was an awful blast
And the man was blown to bits.
‘The pig must have wriggled and pulled the pin
Of the hand grenade in the pack;
We can thank the gods, or providence,
That could have been me in the hat! '
The SS cap was covered in blood
Had landed at Ludwig's feet,
He grinned at Schulz, said: ‘Fancy that!
I hope you can be discreet.'
‘There goes a priceless Matisse, ' said Schulz,
‘But fair exchange, if we live,
I'm sorry about your porker, but
There are several types of pig! '
16 November 2012
poem by David Lewis Paget
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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