HITLER’S MASSEUSE
Imagine the stress those delicate hands had to relieve,
Soothe, calm and relax in order to succeed;
As he entered the chamber and let down his robe not his guard,
Lying flat on the table, his staunch face to the floor,
A blood stained map of Europe at his feet,
She prepared a warm towel,
Nervously rubbed the palms of her hands together and pulled closed the door.Imagine the hunger that burned deep within,
As he recounted the injustices, the crimes committed
Against his fatherland, against his ideal;
The outrageous falling of events, the need for reprisal,
And his total commitment to righting the wrongs
and ridding society of those he sought so single-handedly to defeat.Imagine the pressure that seethed like a boiler,
The Beer Hall Putsches that would leave people chanting,
His whole body trembling, his lungs gasping and his vision exploding
As he promised to deliver a Deutschland that was once again proud and strong,
A Deutschland that could stand up on the world stage,
A Deutschland that was nationalistic in its principles and free in its beliefs.Imagine the ingrained frustration that grew like a cancer
During those years of being locked away,
The seeding of influence, the snap rise to prominence,
And his undying hunger for absolute power and the simmering thought
That his Thousand Year Reich would one day sit at the head of Europe,
And then, the rest of the world — just how immensely gratifying that would be.Imagine the tension that ran through his arteries,
The unflinching burden, the hard months of planning,
While the books were burning, the dark clouds were gathering,
And the long knives were being sharpened,
The world was watching as history was unfolding
Until the day he would put it all on the line,
To plunge an unsuspecting continent into chaos and send millions to die
In what he would consider his making of destiny, the Final Solution.Imagine an error, a slip of the wrist.
She would be gone in an instant,
Marched down the gangway and into the cargoes with the millions of others of poor wretched souls, like rats in the sewer
who didn’t quite fit his criteria of a Utopian future
of perfection in manhood and perfection in breed.Imagine the triumph when her job was done,
Like a Nürnberg rally or Sudetenland march, so totally ecstatic.
She’d return to her quarters and breathe deep sighs of relief,
In knowing she’d passed the ultimate test to escape the wrath of his iron fist
and convincing herself that der Führer had seemed well pleased enough
with her performance that she may be able to see the light of another day.