Where Zoltán Street Would Go, if It Stretched That Far
Shot at the water’s edge
by Arrow Cross fascists,
3500 Jews, ordered to remove their shoes,
valuable in wartime.
Bodies fell into the unforgiving river.
Today, 60 pairs of rusted iron shoes
by sculptor Gyula Pauer
(minus the stolen ones) stand
on the Pest side of the Danube,
some shabby, some not—loafers,
heels, workman’s boots,
baby shoes—look as if they’ve just been
stepped out of, the owners strolling
barefoot to nearby Parliament.
In the railway station, Keleti,
exhausted Syrians wait for a train,
sleep on the concrete sidewalk.
They’ve walked 125 miles
from the Serbian border
only to be moved to camps
made of metal shipping containers.
The Prime Minister says they’re free
to return to Serbia any time,
as a fence around them rises. Razor wire,
tear gas. Locals scowl: eyesores;
would like to march them to the river.
A sympathetic few bring them food,
water, rows and rows of shoes.