Monday, October 6 - Persona Poem

As the bombs fell and the French blues and reds turned white

I lay in London, wondering the outcome of this fight.

With my Old Crow in my hand, I lay there drinking

And all I can do, in my drunken stupor, is thinking.

My ethics and morals surpass most isolationists

And, in particular, one bad Austrian artist.

June 22, 1940 is the day my friends falls

And though my brethren silently remain appalled

I carry on his wishes, in the skies of London

I can’t join, I wish I could, but I’m sadly drunken.

I don’t know if I’m just some British BTO

But I can’t sit and watch my men get blown out of the sky, although

What can I do? I’m just a simple politician getting bombed by the Nazis

These Brit boys are true men, not some soldier copies

And they will carry Britain’s wishes. They will succeed in their personal missions.