Adolf Hitler was in this dream
in a downtown hotel in Manhattan.
He had riding britches and a funny
hat and
everyone called him,
“Mr. Chips”
He walked past a slot machine
in this dream.
He walked through a garish
hotel lobby and onto
the sidewalk.
He hailed a cab to go see
the stock market.
The first thing the next morning
I went for a walk along Aylmer Street
with a big black dog.
That dream was still inside my head.
I couldn’t believe it.
Everyone called him,
“Mr. Chips”
by Ian David Arlett
Peterborough Poets 