Auschwitz Bound

Mountains and trees flash between
the boxcar's sidings. Falling sun zips along
jagged horizon. The train car jumps, pushes against
steel rails as if to break free, run off the track.
Our captors herd us in the corner like
sheep for slaughter. Strangers become kin
as we huddle for warmth and moral support.
We are mute in despair. To speak is to beg for death.

The dogs open our cage. Their polished boots
scrape against the wooden floor. You can taste
their hunger for bloodshed. They circle us,
Black eyes seeking out their prey. My lover
is chosen this time. He is dragged from the flock
as we did nothing but cower.
In the next cell over he was tortured.

His cries shushed the roaring of the train,
rocked the quivering mass of prisoners to its core.
When the last of his echoes subside
the door reopens and his body is flung
in the corner. With all my might I fight the urge to
lick his wounds. To do so would out me.
We watch as the life drains from his body.

The hounds reek of bloodlust. They scramble
into our sty; grab his hollow shell.
On three they hurl him into a ravine.
His body contorts into a clump
on the toothed rocks below; folds in on itself
like fresh laundry waiting to be hung
as it lies in the wicker basket. I conceal my
pink triangle as to avoid the same fate.
What I wouldn't give to be a chameleon,
to change who I am (as if I had a choice).

No amount of soap and water will rid me
of my mark. Like a sod iron imprint
burned into a dress shirt
I can't just scrub the gay away.