15 Apr The Poet Considers (Two)

Hitler
Seemed even littler –
Though I gather the little schwein
Was actually five foot nine.

Uncle Joe
Certainly refused to grow!
He got to five foot six –
Then took Russia right back to nought foot nix!
God, was he tiny!
Though he looked smart and shiny,
With a whole chestful of medals –
I bet he couldn’t even reach the pedals
On his push-bike, when he was a kid!
And just look at what he did!
Murdering people left right and centre,
When he could have been something useful like an inventor!
I bet, when he was a lad,
His Mum and Dad
Tried to stop him going bad:
“Come on, Josef! Don’t make us laugh –
All your friends want to be firemen or train-drivers. Do you have to be a psychopath?”
But did he hear?
No fear!
He packed them off to Siberia
(With the help of his Ministry Interior)
Where they died in their droves, while he grew cheerier and cheerier:
Night after night, he sits with his drinking buddies
And, cold as the ice in his glass, his tiny little Georgian hands he bloodies.

Yes, when you’re five foot six,
Murdering people like there’s no tomorrow is how you tend to get your kicks.
To be continued…