<html><head><meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html charset=utf-8"></head><body style="word-wrap: break-word; -webkit-nbsp-mode: space; -webkit-line-break: after-white-space;" class=""><div class="">After the War</div><div class=""><br class=""></div><div class=""><span style="font-size: 14px;" class=""><i class="">For Joseph Flum</i></span></div><div class=""><span style="font-size: 14px;" class=""><i class=""><br class=""></i></span></div><div class="">When he got to the farmhouse, he rifled through</div><div class="">the cabinets, drawers, and cupboards,</div><div class="">and his buddies did too. The place was abandoned,</div><div class="">or so he thought, and his buddies did too.</div><div class=""><br class=""></div><div class="">He tried to talk to people in town, and his buddies did too,</div><div class="">but he was the only one whose Yiddish made it</div><div class="">across into German. They took his meaning.</div><div class="">He, in the farmhouse, took a camera and a gun,</div><div class=""><br class=""></div><div class="">but his buddies, who knows. About the gun,</div><div class="">it’s also hard to say, but after the war he took up</div><div class="">photography, why not, and shot beautiful women</div><div class="">for years. Got pretty good at it, and how.</div><div class=""><br class=""></div><div class="">Won prizes and engraved plates, put them in a drawer, forgot</div><div class="">the war, forgot his buddies, forgot the women, forgot the drawer.</div><div class=""><br class=""></div><div class=""><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>- Rachel Galvin</div></body></html>