More On The Belsen Boy

It would have been, then, or even now a real privilege to know the Belsen boy. Or, would it be within the possibilities to have a peek at that old photograph. The similarity between the man who does resemble a stick and nothing more and one brave soul who has been found and whipped by Cancer show clearly in the bathroom mirror. Each morning he looks and acts the same. Because he's always there, reminding me of ethnic cleansing. He loves my soapy hands and giggles at the foam which is a make-believe it shows the man before, like an old photograph from times long gone. There's colour in his face and lips, so ruby red they speak. A tiny bubble blows to me as if to say I'm just a bit of soap, a thought for you. We take our time, the two of us, and call each other names, like Belsen boy it is a slippery game watched over by the ancient mirror. And as the bounty of our soap just clings and slowly fades we get a glimpse into the depth of two brave souls.