Neil Mcleod | + Follow Poet |
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From Platform To Smoke

I stand ’tween the rails looking back at the gate
With lips pursed I swallow and choke,
And I thank God that I’m still standing alive
Not going from platform to smoke.

Not going from platform to smoke in a blink
Or just in an hour and a half,
“We really have got this machine running smoothly.”
The camp commandant would laugh.

The camp commandant would laugh in his house
Which was white and just behind the hedge.
He and his family could just see the chimneys
And smoke past their window ledge.

I can just see the ledge of the window	
With our hands wrapped for Tifillin prayer,
An act of worship never allowed
To those who were previously there.

Those who were previously there came by train,
In a transport they came every day,
Crammed in goods vans that slowed to a halt,
Confused and afraid in dismay.

Confused and afraid and in dismay
They got down and formed sorting lines,
Those who went right were sentenced to death,
To the left for some other designs.

And the stench of the smoke was appalling
It wafted and hung in the air,
Indicting all who worked in that place
Of the wickedness that they all share.

I stand ’tween the rails looking back at the gate
With lips pursed I swallow and choke,
And I thank God that I’m still standing alive,
Not going from platform to smoke.

Copyright © Neil Mcleod | Year Posted 2014

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