Traffic Light

Judith cleans our faces. “Stand by the traffic light. See what you can bring us.”

Michael and I approach the British soldiers. We hold up hands to the drivers. “Please, mister! Haben Sie ein Stück Brot?”

Green light, they are off.

Yellow light. Red light. Try again.

The war’s been over since summer.

Sometimes a slice of apple, a piece of bread.

Mother, sister, father have not come home. Years ago, men took them away. To Bergen-Belsen, said Aunt Judith.

At the harbor the British lorries bring supplies. Outside the base, hungry we wait.

Yellow light. Red light. Try again.

Gregory K. Moberg is a software developer by day, a husband and father at all other times, but yet as well a writer of fiction at times beyond that. Historical settings hold a particular fancy. Evidence of the damage he’s done can be found at Twitter: @gkmoberg1.