Pride And Wallet Poem by Herbert Nehrlich

Imposing though the tower was,
some metres up, right in the clouds.
The fascination of a frown
bestowed importance on the lad.
Five years to match against ten metres,
the acrobats were jumping now,
one-armed, one-legged, paraplegics,
collecting after splashing down.

Oh, yes, the Fatherland was kind,
and no one falls through its big net,
though invalids do like their drink
and fitness has its sweet rewards.

A trick went wrong just then, oh God!
A woman slips and tumbles over
the edge, arm flailing (she had one) ,
a cruel impact as her breasts
meet liquid concrete at one-fifty.
Old Newton would have shuddered too.

Yes only five, anticipation
of broken limbs and coloured waters
was no surprise. He stared with wide and open eyes.
Her flesh was torn, mammary rags
were hanging, floating to the surface,
now losing consciousness, who'll jump?
Her would-be hero, 'almost six'.

I was the first one, swimming wildly,
but overtaken by big boys.
They fished her out, regarded sadly
not her but me, the LITTLE man!

Perhaps his aim was to distract
from such a trauma to his son.
The old one pointed at his wallet
and offered as a rich reward
its contents if I were to try.

So, even at that tender age
a boy knows opportunity.
And when it knocks on his small door,
he will be dressed up for his day.

He turned away, marched to the tower,
climbed up with quick, athletic steps.
Walked to the front, the little bugger,
stepped into nothing and applause.

A piece of cake, both, flight and landing,
a major disappointment was,
that not one soul of seven hundred
had watched a thing but torn up breasts.

Old Man took all the contents out,
it was a fortune, had he known...
well he had made a proper deal,
and honest men do keep their word.

Just Mum and Dad, also four siblings
observed his death-defying stunt.
The money was a welcome treasure.
But that they WATCHED, that was enough.