hospital blues.

dress, Givenchy. window, Catalena's

standing in front of the class, supposed to hold a speech about World War II. images of loose body parts flash before my eyes; images of a war my grandfather told me so much about.
I know it all; how he'd piss all over Jewish corpses; how he'd shoot them right between the eyes.

suddenly an Arado bomber plane flies across the troubled skies outside our classroom windows and below it Hitler has gathered his cold army - they salute him. years later they'll swear never to do it again, but have no idea history will always come to repeat itself.
the Arado crashes on the school yard. I realize it's just a car backfiring, but it's too late; I'm already shaking. the epilepsy's back. I'm on the floor, head on the threshold with blood creating a morbid halo. I'm shaking. twenty-nine pair of young eyes watch me carefully. they've paid for a freak show and they'll expect to see the star.