The Corporal's Punishment, Nuremberg 11_20_45 Poem by John F. McCullagh

"All Rise! "
In single file, we justices entered the court
and took our places on the bench,
before us sat the accused; these architects of death.
My eyes were drawn to just one of these men.
He looked faintly Chaplinesque.
He sat there, pale and palsied, along with Goering and the rest.
He had been captured in Bavaria. Hitler had thought to flee
to his friends in South America, forsaking Germany.

Perhaps he thought the World would forget,
and thus absolve him of his crimes.
Now he faced the specter of the rope;
There was no thought of Hitler serving time.
That was the likely fate of some of these men,
Men like Donitz, Speer, and Hess.
Such men could age behind grey walls
And live out lifetimes of regret.

Not for Hitler, their Fuhrer, for him only death sufficed.
Though we would follow the forms of Justice,
Most would vote to kill him twice.
Perhaps his neck would be snapped by a rope
on some cold grey future date.
Perhaps a simple firing squad
would be Herr Hitler's fate.
Perhaps he'd get a bar of soap
and a threadbare linen towel.
then hear the hiss of Zyklon B
in the chambers he had styled.

I wondered how it came to this.
He'd had the means and time.
To put a pistol in his mouth
And atone for all his crimes.
He'd been fleeing from the Russians
when he fell into allied hands.
Those soldiers had shown great restraint,
their sergeant, great command.
Now the little corporal sits in the dock,
attentive to every word.
We each now have our part to play
in the theatre of the absurd.