Post Mortem

I am not a practicing Jew,
But letter perfect
By birth.

Hitler wanted me for a star,
A smouldering, six-pointed star,
One in a cast of millions,
The theatre blazed with stars
(Tormented Hamlets
And poor Ophelias)
When he staged his loud
And monstrous spectacle
Before an audience that was
Deaf, and heard no evil,
Blind, and saw no evil,
Mute, and did not speak.

When the curtain rose
On the night of broken stars,
The critics didn't even attend.
Nor for years did they review
The grand opera Genocide.
To the shrieks and wails
Their ears had walls.

And that, my dear children,
Is why
Every Jew should own a diamond:
To bring at once to the box office,
Should the murderous chorus sound again,
For the fastest ticket
Out of the theatre.