Herbert Nehrlich

Rookie (04 October 1943 / Germany)

Brainwashing - Poem by Herbert Nehrlich

Equipped with my own, well-trained Schnauzer
and one of gunsmiths' best, a Mauser
I stepped into the hornets' nest
had thought aggression would be best.

Her mind was almost gone by now
those bastards knew exactly how
they could turn upside down her thinking
and in the end she would be sinking
along with all the other ones
my answer would be dog and guns.

The Bishop came right to the door
and asked what I had come here for.
He waved a bible at my face
and preached that this was God's own place.

That all the disciples had come
because religion was for dumb
and stupid folks in misery
and that this was her place to be.

Too tired of the whole charade
the applications I had made
to all the right authorities
(I nearly had gone on my knees) ,

I told him that I'd come for her
and no one ever would deter
me from my purpose here today
alone I would not go away.

A huge gorilla with a beard
now in the background had appeared.
Held in his hand a bowie knife
with which to threaten now my life.

My bullet was a nine-three-five
the bishop smiled when still alive
but when a shocking hole sprung up
he fell and spilled his coffee cup
slumped to the floor to sleep the sleep
that should be given to a creep.

Four more came now, they all were running
they carried automatics, stunning
and holding hollow-point big slugs
I dropped myself and then those thugs
when from behind a curtain 'water'
the word was spoken by my daughter.

I ran, my heart was in my hand
as anyone would understand
and found her on a prayer stool
surrounded by a crimson pool

and at her feet were two more guys
it took a bit to realise
that she had bought only a scratch
in this uneven righteous match.

It must have been a shot from me
that brought the bishop to his knee
and went through walls so paperthin
my girl now looked with a wide grin
at my concern and silly fretting,
it was attention she was getting.

Before we left she showed the book
that she had held and which then took
the impact of the bullet's force
my Mauser had been its true source.

Said she that God had walked with her
that nothing bad could thus occur
and now, that her old mates were dead
she would get rest at home in bed

and marshall within days her strength
to measure and extend the length
of our house to make a church.
The altar would be near the birch
down by the mossy, stony brook.

And then she handed me the book.
When we arrived at home for dinner
she sat me down, called me a sinner
and looked into my eyes to find
the Dad who always had been kind
and could be swayed by his own girl.
I said, 'we'll give this thing a whirl.'


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Poem Submitted: Monday, October 3, 2005



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