gorged they chose their roost
keeping the hollowed remnant
in easy range of cold
telescopic eyes. . . .
Strange
indeed how love in other
ways so particular
will pick a corner
in that charnel house
tidy it and coil up there, perhaps
even fall asleep—her face
turned to the wall!
. . . Thus the Commandant at Belsen
Camp going home for
the day with fumes of
human roast clinging
rebelliously to his hairy
nostrils will stop
at the wayside sweetshop
and pick up a chocolate
for his tender offspring
waiting at home for Daddy’s
return . . .
Praise bounteous
providence if you will
that grants even an ogre
a tiny glowworm
tenderness encapsulated
in icy caverns of a cruel
heart or else despair