Middle Finger

By | 1 November 2019

the middle finger
on my granddad’s right hand
was shorter than all the others

as kids, we fantasised
that he lost it in the war
shot off and buried in desert sands

but in fact it was
an accident with a chisel
working as a warfie, down docks in the 50s

a practical man, he
dropped for his first-born, before deploying,
the Jewish part of the family name

in case ever Hitler won

if God is there,
may he rest you, Granddad;
I wonder what you’d make of this:

Nazis in St Kilda,
draped in Aussie flags,
where you’d take us to the water

I think you’d get up,
dust your pants, don your hat,
and give them all the middle finger

you know, with your good hand

This entry was posted in 93: PEACH and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

Related work:

Comments are closed.