Irma Grese Poem by Michael Arnold

Somewhere between a farm
And a Nazi you stumbled.
Was it youth that dragged
Your femininity
Into stench filled camps,
Or starry-eyed promises
Of racial superiority.

Your pseudo phallic pistol
Somehow filled sexual desires
That no man could satisfy.
Murder was sex,
Sex was murder,
There was no way
You could express
Your evil desires.

Standing on that chalk mark
Did you regret
Or were you waiting
For one last climactic ride
On a rope of death.