Wandering Wonderward: More Poetry from the End of the World

The Bunker

It's been a bad winter since this war was entered.
Your sister surrendered when Hitler's friend sent her
A fistful of splinters the kinder'd engendered.
But by mid-September, those splinters and timbers
Had limbered your once hindered friend.

He went in suspenders, dressed up like a minter,
But one alley over, changed into a rover.
Three streets then a vintner, a palmer, a renter.
But over or under, it's into the center:
The bunker where he'd meet his end.

It's your turn to enter into this tense winter.
They tried to resist, her (your sister) and Pinter,
And who of all sinners are you to pick winners?
You're not a resister. You're more a resenter.
Still Fate has a verdict to rend.

But there's nothing to do.
He destroyed himself, too.

That's how everyone goes in the end.