From those airy complacent perspectives,
monkeys can appear like angels.
But when more lowly based they are
simply blind, deaf, and dumb.
From an apathetic view, roofs seem quaint
distressed red-wooden steps;
( Oh the things we unload
when we tear down the barn )
a ladder for God
to get the hell away.
He was evicted,
from these garrisons,
from the pastoral settings
where blood-brick cottages
are tattoed with numbers;
Five for the Rom -
"Ring around the rosy."
Ten for the children -
Mengele had a pocket
full of cyanide posies.
Twenty for those dirty Jews -
" and we all fell down, "
even God...
Smokehouses exhaust Non-Aryan clouds
above this little village,
and proper German wives
can not be disturbed
with the cattle taken
from the cars to be slaughtered.
I think we call it content now,
in flower-boxed homes
on the better side of the street.
These days have a dirty kind of rain,
drizzling endlessly. Noons
are melancholy brochures,
as dingy men flick the thought
of humanity from their shoulders,
and the neighbors are just a noisy crew
on their way to dying
light at the end of the day.
They're single filed, to bunks stacked
like bodies in open pits,
where sleep is a dead sleep.
The Kaddish pours grey slate flakes of song,
while "Factory dust
coming out of their stoves"
was told to ourselves,
as we slept safe each night
in our own pass-over.



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