American Krauts

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He said he loved her after
he saw her jump over a fence
My Grandmother
sewed tank seats at Fisher Body
She ran an industrial flywheel Singer
stitching canvas for Shermans
While grandpa lay beneath
that same war machine
repairing broken tanks
in the blood and mud of France
Third Army, Second Armored
He put the tracks back on
field-dressed iron scars and waited for fuel
He robbed Peter's parts
to pay Paul's repairs
kept the battle line moving
He marched miles behind rolling cannons
with a rifle and a tool bag
Normandy, Paris, Dachau, The Bulge
Almost Berlin
The paper trail lost in a building fire
before I was old enough to want to know
I want to know if he ever sat
in one of those seats that she sewed
I don't know if they knew
what the other was doing during the war
I imagine him test-driving a serviced Sherman Tank
around the motor pool, like it was a GI care package
He peeled the uniform off
in the half-open doorway
He bare-chested Tom the Second
for the first time
His wife packed the soldier's things
into an old dress box
She left five bucks
in his green pants
a Zippo
I found Chesterfields
in the right breast pocket
I stole his photograph-
Patton pissing in the Rhine
It still smells like Grandma's house
I wonder if he repaired tanks
because he worked on cars at home
or if the Army chose him because he was
five feet, three inches
I wonder if she sewed tank seats
because she was a seamstress
or if it was the way
she decided to fight
He called it "the service"
a war comprised of breakdowns
and beautiful Parisian women
war buddies living
miles and miles from Portland, Michigan
He sold more tires from a VFW barstool
than at his business address
The tire shop lived
for a hundred years, almost
No one ever died in his stories
about the war
No one ever died at The VFW
until the next morning
They had 7 Children, 33 Grandchildren
sown by wrench and sewing needle
Almost all of them worked at that tire shop
Keusch Super Service
some stayed their whole lives
most left after graduation
I met him after he quit drinking
sitting in his swivel chair watching baseball
I sat on the floor in my underwear
while Ruth the Riveter
sewed a patch on my torn blue jeans
He yelled at me once
for shooting a songbird with my bb gun
She never yelled at me once
she yelled at him, though
I am certain
she made the seat cushions
for the wooden chairs
that circled her dining table
She cooked sausage and sauerkraut
without irony
we ate pot roast and pancakes
fresh banana bread with butter
beneath a painting of a old man
praying over a loaf of bread
They played Rummy every morning
at that table
following 6:30 Mass
after she cooked breakfast
a notepad stood on edge
between the plastic salt and pepper shakers
Ruth: 1,453,009
Tom: 1,424,993
She won the game
He saw her jump a fence
Patton pissed in the Rhine