Where Is Hitler’s Brain?

Göring, that sweaty faced swine
is smoking again.  He laughs too loud
and swaggers about the bunker,
waving his meaty arms like the
conductor of some obscene orchestra.


He isn’t speaking to Himmler any more,
not that Himmler has noticed.
He’s entirely wrapped up with his star charts
and horoscopes, and with telling anyone
who will listen about the Kobolds
that are digging elaborate tunnels beneath the bunker.


Outside, in the forest above, are the werewolves,
suicide soldiers, armed with glass vials
of de Führer’s flatulence.

They will defend the wolf’s lair with their
final repugnant gasp.

            But where? Where is Hitler’s brain?

Golden haired Eva is posing for photographs
and later she will taste the cyanide.
Goebbels fires off another propaganda blast
just ahead of the invading Reds:  The battle for Berlin
must become the signal for the whole nation
to rise up and poison their children…

Speer is building iconic monuments
that will stand into eternity
from thousands of spent artillery shells;
Rudolf Hess is flying through the fog
towards Scotland with a parachute and a prayer.


And faithful Bormann is guarding the door,
restricting access to the leader of this thousand year Reich
who is celebrating his birthday with cake
and a pistol.  He shares this death with his mistress wife.
Together they will burn in a pool of diesel fuel.

            But where?  Where is Hitler’s brain?