Brain fart
Monday, December 11, 2006
Them, Me.
A pang of Deep Heat rubbed in,
Smacks the nostrils.
A knife in my eye,
Liquid painkillers.
Muscles stretched from bag carrying
On a trip to Auschwitz,
A death camp.
The odd placard
Told of atrocities,
I didn’t notice the pain.
70 – 75% of people
Brought here,
Went straight to their deaths.
Piles of hair
Discoloured from 60 years
Lay in a giant show case.
Mountains
Of suitcases,
Each with tippex like scrawls.
Individual styles,
Some sloppily,
Some beautifully executed.
They made hair cloth
To straighten German collars,
Necks held tight with death
And Zyclon B.
I noticed my smile
At the tour guide
May have been too friendly
One mustn’t smile
In a place like that.
Should I take pictures?
I asked myself.
Not at ‘the wall of death.’
Not in the gas chamber
Not where they experimented on women
And injected chemicals
Into children’s eyes.
The residue of people,
A light crust around the sides,
Buildings colder on the inside
Than the outside.
A beautiful day,
Scarred with buildings
That could have been built
Yesterday.
Back in Krakow,
I feast on goulash
With an aching migraine. ¶ 5:20 pm 1 comments
Smacks the nostrils.
A knife in my eye,
Liquid painkillers.
Muscles stretched from bag carrying
On a trip to Auschwitz,
A death camp.
The odd placard
Told of atrocities,
I didn’t notice the pain.
70 – 75% of people
Brought here,
Went straight to their deaths.
Piles of hair
Discoloured from 60 years
Lay in a giant show case.
Mountains
Of suitcases,
Each with tippex like scrawls.
Individual styles,
Some sloppily,
Some beautifully executed.
They made hair cloth
To straighten German collars,
Necks held tight with death
And Zyclon B.
I noticed my smile
At the tour guide
May have been too friendly
One mustn’t smile
In a place like that.
Should I take pictures?
I asked myself.
Not at ‘the wall of death.’
Not in the gas chamber
Not where they experimented on women
And injected chemicals
Into children’s eyes.
The residue of people,
A light crust around the sides,
Buildings colder on the inside
Than the outside.
A beautiful day,
Scarred with buildings
That could have been built
Yesterday.
Back in Krakow,
I feast on goulash
With an aching migraine. ¶ 5:20 pm 1 comments
