My mother had loved the War.
The Nazis invading
swarms of planes destroying
and she, newly married
The panic, the immediacy
the passion
making love as bombs exploded
like permission from god
to feel everything
and deeply
as if you were abut to die.
So in later life
they argued
violence, madness
screaming
Fuck, they bought their own home
just so a landlord
couldn't complain
and to hell with the neighbors
oblivious to three daughters
and a young son
witnessing
They fought relentlessly
for days
Then they would makeup
and make passionate love
Having returned to Europe
under the heartsome War again.
