A Baker's Dozen Poem by jan oskar hansen

The Baker’s Dozen

The baker, in our village, a man who loved his craft,
collaborated with the enemy in the war of 1940-45, as
it was the only way he could get fine flour and other
stuff to bake his delicious cakes and white bread.
Our baker was a pleasant, brown eyed, a short rotund
man who always had boiled sweet in his pocket for
the children when he went for his afternoon walk.

His wife was more of an administrative type, dressed
in black, starched blouse and ankle long skirt, and in
her blue eyes ice floes drifted; chased children, beggars
and dogs with her broom, but had been seen feeding
birds, bread crumbs on cold winter days.

During daylight the enemy and Nazi officials came and
bought the baker’s enticing products; in nights or early
mornings those who could afford it, but didn’t like to be
seen associating with a traitor, came and bought fresh
bread, aromatic Danish pastry and chocolate éclairs.

When the war ended, as wars must, the baker was sent
to jail as a collaborator, but he didn’t sit there long
I suspect - but cannot prove this- that his night visitors,
mostly lawyers, doctors and business men spoke well of
him into the right authorities. It is odd to think during
all this upheaval few, if any, knew that it was his wife
who wore an iron cross under her blouse.