Shalom

The camp commander stood on a box
The prisoners trapped in paddock locked
loud hailer in his hand announced
Above the multitude and shouts
 
The picket line stood firm and square
Their spits like pollen filled the air
The agitators throwing rocks  
For that pretense it was designed to shock
 
The paradigm of abuse that makes you kick
For blooded hands a race on which to pick
That stoic pharisee he raved
"To the Wailing Wall and we be saved"
 
And in the end all placid was
The hail of bullets quelled the mob
A perception that all right will out
The peasant mass  massacred for nowt
 
That pilgrimage a riven holocaust of guilt
A feast when sacred blood is spilt
Swift bullet or the choking gases scent
Each chamber held unwelcome death