hoping that I wouldn’t
have to fight.
Into the washroom did I
go,
making sure no one was
to follow.
Around my neck, I tied
my belt.
No one knew how I felt.
Especially the Bitch of
Belsen.
With Sandra my life was
great,
but unknown to me was
my fate.
Even though my hunger
for love had been fed,
my mother’s face did
turn red.
Hurt by this, I started
to melt.
No one knew how I felt.
Especially the Bitch of
Belsen.
My wife and I began to
separate,
she was already out of
the gate.
In a fortnight, her
body was found,
with another mister on
the ground.
I lost my love and on
my knees I knelt.
No one knew how I felt.
Especially the Bitch of
Belsen.
In the garden, I did
hear,
little voices in my
ear.
When I saw a running
fox,
my eyes fell upon the
Hollyhocks.
They were the color of
red felt.
No one knew how I felt.
Especially the Bitch of
Belsen.
I was sent to the
clinic because I was talking to flowers,
I was in there for many
hours.
I befriended an
alcoholic named Wilf Armstrong,
and he stared to listen
to me, not head strong.
I was in control, and
the cards were dealt.
No one knew how I felt.
Especially the Bitch of
Belsen.
I changed when my
parents came,
they talked to me and
put me to shame.
Even Wilf could not
mend,
the part of my sanity
that continued to bend.
There was no more ore
for me to smelt.
No one knew how I felt.
Especially the Bitch of
Belsen.
Now I stand on the loo,
this decision, I will
not rue.
The last thing I see as
I jump into the air,
Are my Sandra’s
Hollyhocks – Oh so fair.
I feel myself escape
the veldt.
No one knew how I felt.
Especially the Bitch of
Belsen.
This poem was inspired my the short story The Sound of the Hollyhocks by Hugh Garner
