The Purest Breed

Written in 2012. I never followed assignments in class-the assignment was to write a 6 page paper of "Conspiracy," I did this instead.

Gathered around

are fifteen regulars,

each fingerprint the same

as the man to the left.

Their iron hands,

constructed from the same material as their hearts,

raise to the air for a cult-like greeting:

"Hail Hitler's" all around.

A voice opens up the room

his tongue softer than his intentions

with only a subtle undertone of brutality.

The pack attentively sit;

under the table their tails wagging,

anxious to please their alpha.

The most recessive genes impersonate dominance

blonde hair, blue eyes,

Aryan.

Who other of Aryan look reside in the room?

A long speech riles his pups

what ensues is his first line of deception

"your opinion matters to me."

The men of true intelligence speak out.

In his flawed arrogance

he violently insults their intellect

yet,

ever so discretely.

A pillow,

embedded with shards of glass.

He fluffs up his cotton

which dries his mouth so he won't salivate...

"Evacuation"

don't chew the word.

"It is important to know what words mean"

have you found the glass shards?

"Extermination"

Spit.

That mouth full of blood won't compare to

the blood on your hands.

those six* million pores can't clog

only perpetually seep a reminder of red

no water or whisky can wash away.

His articulate words never seem to stumble,

they flow in a solid stream of pride

no pause to reconsider

no remorse.

His mother must be so proud

such a good, proper, German boy.

Spit and shined in his patriotic uniform

spiffed up by a gelled comb over

standing tall and protecting his race.

Yet the light in his eyes vanished with his childhood.

And absent like his justification

for having such cold, spiteful eyes,

empathy.

Only a void pit

remains entrapped in his left cage

missing the required parts

to still be considered human.

Individually he kicks each of his pups.

They whimper and cower with their tails tucked between their legs

then lay at his feet

close the the steel toed boot

that put them in line

hoping that their loyalty will spare them

from feeling his spur lodged in their ribs.

He holds the leash

and knows all he has to do is yank on their collars.

They are free to roam the yard;

they've been trained to hunt vermin.

But they know better than to cross their marked territory

and the shock fence and barbed wire ensure they won't try to run.

Their master placed the rat poison 

now they must seek out all the mice

so his yard won't be invaded

by the disease ridden creatures

he hates so much.

The plan is set,

and every last little rat

shall die.

Author's Note

*The poem says "six million" because it is a direct reference to the number statistic stated by the Nazi in the film itself. In reality the number reached eleven million.

p.s. I got an A