They were all bigger than me
and said I looked German.
This was 1953,
sweets may or might not
have been rationed,
not to mention
all the still bombed out buildings,
down at heel fashions.
“Probably related to Hitler I’ll bet>”
My gran overheard the launderette.
Though Adolf had been Austrian
I spent a year or so
steering a careful course.
Hid in shadows Took long cuts rather than short.
Got to know every back ally.
Found out of the way places.
Derelict air raid shelters where I’d bunker down.
It all faded away.
They got older, so did I,
following other whims and fancies.
Sometimes life’s a strange dance.
In my teens I flirted with the Spanish language.
Wore red shirts and talked a load of bull.
No-one linked me with Franco
or offered me out for a fight
in the name of national pride