Concentration Camp

The whistle, the cry, the swishing, the thud;

the reversed water, the smoke, the stone, the saw;

a fallen tree among the killed men; -

when the guards undressed them, you could hear falling

one by one from their pockets the telephone tokens,

the small pair of scissors, the nail-clipper, the little mirror

and the long, hollow wig of the bald hero

strewn with straw, broken glass and thorns

and a cigarette-butt hidden behind the ear.