Skin In The Game Poem by John F. McCullagh

The old man's skin was parchment thin,
his eyes a watery blue.
On his left arm he bore the mark;
his Birkenau tattoo.

The letter 'B' and six numbers
would be with him to the grave.
A permanent reminder
of his time as Hitler's slave.

Two winters spent in Auschwitz-
What God would so design?
It left him gaunt and starving
with no faith in the Divine.

Yet he survived the worst and lived
when all his bunkmates died.
His first wife was dust on the wind
as was their little child.

Now his grandson bears that mark,
the one and very same.
To remind the world Of Hitler's crimes,
He has skin in the game.