Faye Sizemore

THE JEWISH BUTCHER AND THE GESTAPO

I stopped the Gestapo
… on the way to your door
He won’t come back anymore
… at least not this one
Sharpened my cleavers… my knives
… lots of work to be done
The meat grinder whined
… and begged…
almost overloaded
Arms and legs and torso…
grind very slow…
but when it came to the brains
the grinder flew…
as though through moldy cake…

Outside… the hogs wait…