Scenes from a history book
A short man with a pinched look and a high moustache walks fast up the Judengasse.
They try to sell him a leather jacket, a black Homburg hat, a pair of driving-gloves He shakes his head, thrusting his hands in the pockets of his belted raincoat.
There is a cold wind; They laugh, exchange words in their fur-lined overcoatsi He hurries on to the Rathausplatz.
There is a lot to do.
No, he is not Napoleon. It is 1913.
I give you three guesses who he is.
II Where did they come from?.
They came from a village in Poland.
These are the cheap tailors who died in Warsaw.
There are shreds of hair still on their shoulders, gold teeth in their pockets.
We never knew, we never knew It is 1945.
They walk towards a concrete room in another city.
I hear the shot.
They laugh, warming their hands at the body burning.
Any old hair, any old gold I smell the petrol burning flesh flames rising black smoke old clothes old clothes Who'll give a penny for Hitler's clothes?.
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