I’ve been coughing all morning and I’m unable to work.
I sit on unwashed sheets in a
room with several other infirm men.
After waiting a couple hours,
a tall man in a suit walks in.
His hair black, short, and brushed back.
He spends a few minutes walking around the room,
pressing his stethoscope to patients’ bare, shrivelled
chests as healthy flies buzz around their heads.
He eventually makes his way towards me, kneels down,
smiles, a gap in his two-front teeth showing, and
he introduces himself: “Good Afternoon, I’m Dr. Mengele.”