The Great Escape of Morton B. Shapiro

By Emrie Oliver

A young man, of only twenty-three,
Entrenched in a war for his people, overseas.
The plane it spun, nose toward the ground,
As the Germans launched round after round.

Paralyzed with fright and doubt,
He could not move his way out.
Until the pilot made the call,
To eject them both—what a long fall.

Landing in woods that hugged an occupied castle,
Burying the parachute was quite a hassle.
His nails turned charcoal as primal instinct overtook,
His hands, they trembled… They shook and they shook.

As he dug his escape-umbrella a shallow grave,
A French Marquis appeared and ushered him into a cave.
A kind-hearted man, with an earnest smile and a jovial laugh,
It was his castle which they pilfered—such entitled, vile chaff.

Living in an auxiliary building on the estate,
The royal couple now tempted both of their fates,
For the Gestapo was nearby; Looming and observant,
As they, French royalty, slept on the floor with their servants.

Gathering goods and clothes; the Marquis, he ran,
To replace the soldier’s uniform of olive and tan.
The American inhaled a much-needed piece of bread,
He smiled and bowed his bloody-eared head.

In the dourest of times, trust and appreciation was built,
Over months, their lives wove into a life-sustaining quilt.
Until one day, an escape appeared through the French Underground,
A plan that risked ending with all, motionless in a Nazi burial mound.

The path to town was littered with patrols,
Who sneered and jeered; and harassed the locals.
As the soldier looked down at his military-issued shoes,
He hoped they weren’t the lynchpin of his elaborate ruse.

Two men approached the soldier, automatic rifles in tow,
They shouted at him—such despicable bravado!
Just then, a benevolent old woman stepped by his side,
Looked the Nazis in the face… And bold-faced lied.

“This is my son! Leave him alone!
He’s mute and has not one mean bone!”
The Nazis they laughed, and shoved both aside,
Thankfully neither were harmed—only their pride.

The soldier stood, and helped the aged matriarch to her feet,
Who tipped her floral sun hat and continued down the perilous street.
Finally catching a glimpse of hope at the train station,
The soldier was overcome with both fear and elation.

One step closer to escaping the clutches of his demise,
When on the train across from him was a dreadful surprise.
What could it be, but SS officers, seated in twos,
The soldier panicked—his eyes fixed on his shoes.

Another narrow escape—he exited the train.
The reprieve was refreshing, like a drought ended by rain.
He met the Marquis at a café nearby,
The conversation was meant to be a heartfelt goodbye.

Instead, the bleakest of directions, the conversation turned,
The Underground contact had already been burned.
Reliant on the kindness of strangers, the Marquis found a place,
One which would be the soldier’s temporary home base.

Weeks later, the French Underground sought out the Marquis,
His eyes filled with liquid hope, for his friend would finally be free.
The escape was disturbing—but had been executed before.
In the smothering black of night, across a bomb-infused floor.

The American carefully followed the footsteps ahead.
Imagining how close he was, to being littered with lead.
On the edge of the minefield, was a raging torrent of water,
His body battered by the waves, the same as cannon fodder.

For miles he swam, in the oppressive dark,
Until a ship appeared, right at its mark.
Upon boarding the ship, he took a huge sigh of relief.
Exhausted, with nerves frayed beyond all belief.

This is the true story of my Grandfather Mitch,
Who against all odds, avoided death in a ditch.
With the help of noble souls who knew right from wrong,
He lived a life, full of love and plenty long.

And I am here today, by the grace of three impeccably beautiful strangers:
Two Marquis and an old Granny— who thumbed their noses at all the dangers.
When the world is so callous and seemingly austere, I remind myself of this story:
Where strangers stepped up to save a man, with all of humanity’s good-hearted glory.

****

The granddaughter of an Air Force veteran, Emrie Oliver lives in Colorado with her husband, gaggle of rescue dogs, alpacas, and extremely loud ducks. Her work has appeared in The Las Vegas Sun, Beyond Words Literary Magazine and The Dillydoun Review. She has forthcoming appearances in Alien Buddha Zine (July 2022), Liminal Spaces Magazine (August 2022), and the print anthology This Book is a Work.