Candy

After the war
my father was sent
to Germany
for the Occupation.
He used to stand
on the roof of his hotel
throwing
Hershey bars
to the kids
below.

They were abandoned
by the war-makers,
left to roam the streets
for food and friends.
The country was a mystery
to a skinny soldier who
never
had enough to eat
a day in his life

‘til he enlisted.
He could not fathom coming
all this way
and have
food to throw away—
just rain chocolate on folks
who
weeks before
were called mortal enemies
but now stood grounded
in the street—

hands uplifted in hopes
of catching GI rations,

the sweet germ of new truth
falling
in brown wrappers

from a uniformed city boy
who understood hunger.