The Masterpiece.

Oh Lord! Won't you buy me a Mercedes-Benz…
I say buy, but I really mean "gift me",
Because I want to claim the tax back, if possible.
My knees are hurting, God.
I've been down on them for fourteen hours,
(I've been counting),
And still I only have
A driveway full of emptiness
To show for it.
I've seen a really nice one
In a film. A neatly dressed man
Is chauffeured
By a uniformed chap
Up to a French man's decrepit farm:
Perfection parfaite.
He gets out looking for Jews,
Empties the farmer’s
Larder (and cellar) of peerless milk,
Then finds one billowing
Across a field in escape,
Like a spotless cotton sheet
Flapping in a hurricane,
Flying to freedom –
Ah! Gants shleymes!
I can't remember the name of that film,
But I remember that car.
Oh, how it shone!
Like a Howitzer
Polished by spit and sweat,
“Shosanna, die Venus von Paris”
Etched into the gleaming barrel
Next to all the other notches,
Reminiscent of the lives
It smartly smudged out of time and space.
Like the mark scored into that neatly dress man’s forehead
After he efficiently smudged out the life of
A gorgeous blonde on the floor
Of a cheap cinema
And then let his Führer die,
That car was das meisterstück.