Here's one called "Getting Lost in Nazi Germany," sorry.
You did not move about, but try to maintain your position.
Would you eat the fruit of the corpses?
You would.
Your points, your friends are the points of the star.
Now a golden unattainable elsewhere,
because there is no elsewhere for a Jew.
Men have closed their daughters to you
and now the borders like neat hairlines
limiting your ideas to hatred and escape.
This way they have already begun the experiments
with your brain, later to be quartered and posted.
Cremation of what remains?
In a dream like this one, a weathered face
will drive you off under a load of hay
at the very moment the commandant calls.
You can swear the voice you hear is kind, calling you
home, little Jew boy in alarm.