Cockroaches in striped pajamas
stained by the scent of snow-melted blood
under a compassionate moon.
No reflection to admire
other than the eyes of a thousand
miserable and sordid puppets
with shaven heads and wooden clogged shoes.
God and their souls
murdered by a vile evolution,
crucibles of Jewish remains.
Rabbis and priests,
scholars and the poor:
moving targets with stars on their sleeves.
Naked souls waited,
listening to the gods of old Germany.
“Zieh dich aus! (Take off your clothes!)”
They shouted, pushing
them further into the chamber.
The doors
closed shut behind them.
A deathly fog clouded
among them,
putting them to drown
under a thick green darkness.
Agonized voices
shredded apart
as their nails clawed
at the concrete walls.
Women and children held each other tight,
whispering Kaddish,
hoping and praying.
Twenty minutes
of shouting and stumbling,
Twenty minutes
of spluttering and gargling.
The little ones witness the eyes
of their guardians writhe and turn white,
as their bodies jolted
as their lives were stolen.
The gods finally entered
to clear the room,
to pile the dead onto the carts,
to visit the crematorium.
To finally shovel the mounds of
striped clothing,
to recycle and burn the rest.
But this end comes
as a sweet release
as their ashes
were sent through the chimneys
and into the air
to rest in their graves.
