Winter Sports and Mass Graves at Buchenwald

Too few care: they sled over mass graves,
and the crematoriums cold,
while breath escapes towards heaven
(human made as barb wire).
Fines are threatened --
our modern day last resort.

I used to lie awake
remembering black and white photos
of the dead in their striped uniforms
or naked, their eyes staring forever
at me, or whoever dared to take a break
from sipping coffee, comfortably wrapped
in a blanket, cozy in winter --
we are not good enough
to each other, more concerned
about our runny noses
than millions of dead,
who should haunt us until the sun
burns out.