token grass

in 1945 Günther Grass was seventeen

I was ten - contrary, cute

he joined the Waffle-SS

I da Hitlah Yoot

I ran off after three weeks

fed up with nazi geeks

the war was ending fast

as Germ’ny finally breathed her last

fast forward twenty years

I’m thirty now

Grass thirty-seven

he’s published yet another hit

me only beatnik shit

I live in Sausalito in Marin

he in my hometown of Berlin

one day I’m there, visiting some kin

I go to meet the man

who isn’t home

I leave a story with his wife

he doesn’t call me back

maybe never read my stuff

or simply didn’t care enough

wrote another famous tome

eventually I fly home

fast forward to 1966

a houseboat in the Sausalito styx

they’re throwing a party for Grass

there is a chick called Slim

great trim, great ass

we’re toking homegrown grass

really getting into it

there´s no time to talk to him

fast forward forty years to oh-oh-six

my buddy Grass is in a fix

me, I’m still into beat shit

he outs hisself quite smartly

by writing yet another hit

six decades after World War Two

well it’s all over now

Baby Blue

©Peter Edler 2006