Your Nazi tattoo
You wear your sleeves long all the year round
To hide your Nazi tattoo,
Where the needle sank in to your shallow skin
Between veins of Prussian blue.
It’s only one of eleven marks
That stain your Aryan hide
But it’s come to be something of a barrier
Between you and those outside.
You remember why you paid for it
But you weren’t the same man then;
And you’ve paid for it since, and I’m unconvinced
You won’t pay for it again.
You cite your acquaintances’ races;
Your wife – you say – is a Jew.
But they won’t let you define it in that way;
They say that it defines you.
You know your rights, I know. And I know
You’re right, and you know your wrongs.
Though you’ve never had much of a singing voice
I’ve often enjoyed your songs;
But, watching you sing, I’m wondering
Just how it feels to be you:
In the bath, bald, naked, overweight and old,
Washing your Nazi tattoo.
Mistaken for art or rubbish