Oblivia Revisited

Herr Neumann, unable
to find an Aryan bride
these past ten years,

reconciles himself to a helpmeet
of ‘suntanned’ complexion.

‘Deutschland über alles!’
he roars, downing his Bock,

but stares blankly when
I mention schnitzel and bratwurst.

Macaw droppings profane
his only 78,
a Fürtwangler Beethoven Seven.

One day he too
will hear Wagner, he tells me.
Perhaps I might whistle some now?

Parsifal, which is
to say The Pirates of Penzance,
and the cicadas join battle.

My good friend
Brian Sweeney Fitzgerald
hauled a steamboat over

a mountain to give
the jungle its opera;
I too will prove myself

a conquistador of the useless.
Amfortas lies wounded.
The realm of Klingsor

awaits me, and Kundry the witch.
‘I am the very model of
a modern major general...’

Herr Neumann wipes
the tears from his eyes.
‘Ach so!’