HITLER IN MANCHESTER
Hard to believe it
but Hitler is not in Manchester today
neither visiting the museums
nor watching the Manchester Derby.
He is in fact in Blackpool
recovering from the latest
amongst the host
of victory parades.
Tonight he will,
with few choice SS guards,
find himself
strolling the promenade
taking in the lights
thence
up the top of the tower
surveying the Irish sea.
The town
conscious it cannot
compete with Paris, but
is determined
to show its best face.
Seems he heard about Blackpool,
the Las Vegas of Lancashire
whilst munching on
his strudel whilst still
a young, maladjusted boy,
but now
the propaganda ministry
finds itself with
far too many
photo opportunities
that it knows
what to do with
but did get
an endearing clip shot
by Ms Riefenstahl
of the Fuhrer barefoot
testing the sand with
his toes,
paddling, sticking
his feet in the
freezing sea (impudent
frothy ripples washing
right over them)
smiling,
not just for the publicity,
but out of a growing inkling
that the conquered English
(or should he
say “British”) are
at last
beginning to warm to him
an encouraging sign, this
melting of hostility, he
tells himself
tiny wooden spoon
trying to dig out the last
morsel from
the bottom of the
tiny tub
of truly delicious, blackcurrant and vanilla Italian ice-cream.
