Tasteless: Me Pretending to be a Prisoner in Auschwitz

The five sharp clangs of the clock
Reach me as the sound of diesel
Engines must have reached those
Just behind the spindly gate which
Joked, “Arbeit macht frei.” The end
Has come. The sun is low, and I,
For once, have done some work
Beyond arranging syllables, and,
Thus, can tell myself that I have
Earned this bourbon and this seat.
The end has come. I'm fond of endings.
Starts have less appeal to me.
I'll drink a lot and go to bed.
I'll suffer my unpleasant dreams,
In which each thing I try goes wrong,
And then, at some point, I'll give up
And get up, and begin again,
Most likely mostly writing songs,
And waiting, trapped, a starving
Man who wears a baggy prison
Suit with stripes, and cocks his
Head toward the gate, and hopes
He'll hear the diesel engines, or
That blessed clanging clock.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 55 times
Written on 2017-02-14 at 00:13

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