Museum Piece

These men. Expressions 

identical to our own, 
in their prime, arms linked, happy, 
clasping waists of smiling  women, 
meeting , years later,
to reminisce, share drinks, 
and memories, you'd think,  
of lives well lived.

These images. Familiar
from a thousand newsreels,
films, books - skeletal figures, 
 striped dress and hollow eyes - 
women shaved and pelted
gaunt children, pinned 
with  cardboard stars, 
herded, staring through fences, heaped.

These men.  Damned, 
more than damned,
we know from all our histories,
revenge metered in 
a thousand celluloid stories, 
where no-one gets away.

But here, recorded, 
we find facts :
they served sentences
briefly, if convicted, 
let out for good behavior, 
returned to civic life, 
in various capacities, 
positions of authority - 
the police took many in. 

In old age, pictured 
watering gardens, 
sheltering,  at worst, 
 in some safe country, or
having achieved high office, 
living quietly on a pension, 
to reminisce on lives, 
they might say, 
rich in detail.

These men, Gestapo,  
SS Comandants, 
so different from us
who, when out of costume, 
look the same. 
All dead now - 
 what consequence
these stories
from our fathers time, 
these lives recorded
 in museums. 

 
  After visiting Topography of Terror museum in Berlin.