Europe, like quicksilver, covers
The living room floor.

Hitler’s hordes squat from Russia to the edges of Spain.
D-day dawns at daybreak
With allied armies in the surf.

Like Greek gods on Mount Olympus
Teenage generals
Hover on eagle wings
Above the battle field.
To remake history “Avalon Hill” style
As years pass in hours.

A tide of blood soaks the beaches at Normandy
Flowing across the hexagon covered map.
A roll of dice moves Panzer Divisions
Blocking Allied moves.

One blond, stocky general of fifteen sees
That his strategy is slipping into a dyspeptic toilet.
With ferocity twisting his features,
He turns to a vile ally.

With the flick of a switch
The fan blows armored divisions
Across the carpet
To tangle in the drapes.

Other teenage generals cry
Like a flock of crows,
“Not fair, not fair!”

Each followed
Different paths
Through life.
Two to Vietnam
Where one, a riddled corpse, stayed;
Another to Canada escaping the
Bloody draft.

The last plunges into marriage
Raising three sons,
Possible food
For another war
Where fans would be
The desired road to victory.
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