Where Were You? Poem by Herbert Nehrlich

I think it is a fretful day
when someone has to go away.
You put your foot inside your snout
and someone else will pull it out.
Not in an effort to assist
oh no because he may be pissed,
not alcoholicly perhaps
but, well you know those certain chaps.
He points the finger after picking
his nostrils and you hear it ticking.
The bomb of ice from Lake Observe.
You look and then you lose your nerve
to put up with pathetic shit
and then you know this must be it.

Only one question does remain
where were you when they brought the pain
to that small country, so surrounded
when desert devils duly hounded
the people who had seen enough?
Perhaps you were not really tough?
I did not see you there, so sorry,
today it is too late to worry.