two anonymous young women with shaven
heads, their neighbours, family, and friends
follow them, it has a market or festival feeling
everyone enjoying the event, all with craven
hearts, no one dares to question the ends
the camera just goes on clicking or reeling
in dutifulness hung now in a local museum
they remain anonymous to protect their family
from what, shame, that they were picked up
onto serve as scapegoats, oh what a bastard
is history, to illegitimatise and to stigmatise
the victims, let him name names of those
who mocked and hurt, who goosestepped
to the tune of the Wolf, let him tell the truth
for once, and then once that is done with
All can have their identity back, and the date
gedenken by the forgotten, the statistics buried
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