Tender Buttons

Gertrude leaned over
to kiss Alice’s nipples,
sang Olaf glad and big the national anthem,

the war was going on and on
around Henry’s head
as the Germans poured into Paris

like French wine,
and human bodies became the cuisine.
Henry was relieved he had once fled

to the boroughs of New York City,
but now the war was over
and he heard that Gertrude had died,

apparently, a rose is a rose is a rose
until it’s not
Henry wrote to understand his friend.

The lights flickered in the apartment
as no electrons came through.
Picasso’s portrait of Gertie

hung on the wall.
The cubist nature of us all,
round peg into square hole.