1945, February 6th,
The day my life I risked.
It was over a game of golf,
Was chatting with Hitler, yes, Adolf.
Oh, I am a 127 years old,
A secret no one I’ve ever told.
And I had a cuppa tea with the Führer,
It’s fact, not fiction, I couldn’t be surer.
“So Führer”, I asked, “When does your looney end?”
“Oh call me Adolf,” he said, “You are my friend.”
Laughing over a pint of lager
Adolf showed me his favorite dagger;
Not the “dagger” that’d come to a dirty mind
A real one, it’d slit many a throat from behind.
A lot of nerves, I finally asked, “Why don’t you cut that stache?”
“No, never!”, he said, “Not even for piles of cash.”
“I am kidding” I fumbled, “Calm down Sir, no need to be raged,
It’s just that, without the stache, you would look much less aged.”
“But on a more serious note, answer me this Sir.”
For a moment there, asked him this, forgot he was Hitler,
“You have been playing God with the Jews and Allies,
Where do you think, in whose hands, your future lies?”
“Don’t worry, my friend,” he said, “I’ve got a plan,
I will have my suicide faked and fly to Pakistan.”
“Pakistan? Where’s that? I asked, for India was still not free,
He laughed and said, “Adieu, my friend, It is soon-to-be.”
Seventy years have passed since, never saw him after that,
But remember I still, February 6th, I met that old bat.
This a fun poem I wrote, a “what if?” poem. Hope you enjoy it.
And if you like it, try reading my other pieces: Cigarettes and Broken Strings
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