Hitler Was a Punk Rocker

The Crowd surges forward as one
    tidal mass of flesh compressing
       itself against a steel barricade.
           In the front row I am happy,happily 
by the weight (of the bodies and
anger and passion and screams
and the generations
                and generations
                         of frustrations).
I hope that my boot breaks a big nose 
     as I am carried (above the crowd
         Through this writhing pit of black-clad Idiots,
             before a stage full of sound and fury).
When they let me down and the music stops,
We'll bid our Zig-Heil's and Fuck-You's to the night
      and collapse like cadavers on friends couches,
           dreaming of bloody masochism
                           and beautiful music.
This poem is about: 
My country
Our world
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 


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