Johlerpow and Zale et al.

Oh, what my father Jacob, a prisoner of war (POW)
would have given for the bowl of cereal that I ate this morning;
Yet, I complained that we were out of sugar.

How refreshing a hot shower or bath would have been for him;
Yet I complained that the water pressure was too low.

Clean, warm, fresh smelling clothing
would have made him leap for joy and give thanks
to the most high, God.
Yet I complained that the washer was too loud.

Nothing to eat?
Leftovers again?
Jacob and his fellow Prisoners of war (POW’s);
Could have fed at least twenty with the food in my refrigerator.

Still, I wandered around the kitchen;
Wondering if I should dine out.

Dorothy Johler
March 2007