Ostrich Review

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Ostrich 5

Nuremberg

In every story it is good for morale
that the hero die. At least once.
At least in front of the entire city.
My father never came home
is a good excuse for terrible behavior.
Also, a dog bit her and since
she just hasn’t been the same.
Today, clouds as harmless
as Cream-of-Wheat, it’s hard to imagine
Paris, 1943, Krakow, 1939.
Back then bravery was hiding
in terrible locales or
dropping chocolate
to the rumor of a family.
No Superman then.
No difficult journey
for our hero to endure.
Just people and what
the hands can do.
Old man,
isn’t a hate
worn long enough
no longer
derelict—relic of
a different body,
relic of the soul?

He speaks and I bend to listen.

Jeff Whitney

Jeff Whitney is a co-founding editor of Peel Press and the author of two chapbooks, most recently Note Left Like Silver on the Eyes of the Dead (Slash Pine Press: 2013). Recent poems can be found in burntdistrict, Devil's Lake, Salt Hill, Thrush, and Verse Daily. He lives in Portland.