9th Fort

We made apple pie
From the ashes of holocaust victims;
It seemed fitting tribute, perhaps the best
That one could do
In the face of terrible evil
Nicely fenced, commemorated,
And overdressed in green grass.
A man was flying a kite over the memory stones,
I couldn't tell whether
It was a religious act or profane, I tried to make a serious face,
When his boy yelled something about flying
Into the air.

And what is death?  As all die,
Is a moment of death, a silence, proper?
Or, should death, if it be a crime, be celebrated or mourned
With signs of life?  Like dance?
On the other hand, no stone, however contrite, can make right
1000 shot in the head...and
50,000?
God is either sadistic or incredibly merciful, or...
The dead deserve it,
The dead are given rest,
The dead are gone.

World War II looks different here, perhaps more honest.
There is no triumph.
13% of a nation dead, not accounting for
Imported Jewry.
The Bolshevik rescuers, sent thousands to
Their own cold camps.
And we've put all this behind us,
For Eurovision, Lady Gaga, and
The latest touristic sensation,
Complaining how the old men drink.