I must've been
her first conquest.
It's hard to remember
when one is 6 years old
but she
the older woman
by 3 months
took advantage
of my youth
and innocence.
In any case
those were sans souci years.
Hand in hand,
but not always,
we walked
to grammar school
through back lanes
and alleys and pathways
skirting farms.
Yes, it was countryside
all the way.
WWII was barely over.
The Geigers harbored us
by edict.
The price
I learned later
for losing the war.
But the war
was not over
for her and I.
Most days
we were ambushed
by a platoon
of ghost white geese
roaming about
next to the third farm
until we learned
to spy for the evil fowl
from the last corner
of the road
and we waited
until the way was clear
when we'd run
like chicken's
with their heads
cut off.
It goes to say that chickens with heads of geese might've become my medical scientist calling but I ended with an axe in my hand and a damn good woodchucker.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem