Holocaust Redux Poem by Donal Mahoney

They'll be coming for us,
the old lady told the young man
next to her, the two of them
sitting on stones under the bridge
surrounded by trolls
sworn to protect them.

Victors come for those
who fight and oppose them,
the old lady told the young man,
now almost in tears,
his hands ripping his hair.

They came for my parents in Poland,
the old lady told the young man,
but my parents got on a ship,
came here without any papers
and they were allowed to stay.

They had a good life with children,
the old lady told the young man,
and I am the last of the four.
That's why I'm here with you now
and telling you it's time to go.
There's no other way.

We don't have much time,
the old lady told the young man,
so grab the satchels and run.
The trolls mean well
but the victors are coming
and the trolls can't stop them.
We must find a ship
and go somewhere else.
We must find a way.