my future
john sweet
how many years since the last holocaust and you smile
the question
is irrelevant if
the ovens still burn
you want names and all i have are pictures and the man across the street believes that every wall should be rebuilt
his eyes are blank and his wrists bear no scars
his wife hides the children
what he holds is my future and in his hands my future narrows down to nothing more than a locked door covered in blood
