Opinion: Niemöller No More

One Halloween, when I was young enough to still go trick-or-treating with my parents, a pair of boys from my school ran around my block chanting “Nazi! Nazi! Nazi!” while I stood there in my out-of-the-box Darth Vader or Spider-Man costume. When my dad was the age that I was then, he was in an extermination camp.

The Heathenry Preservation Society

Sometimes, the Mead of Poetry works indirectly. An old rock ‘n’ roll song is stuck on repeat in my head, spinning unceasingly between my ears. Actually, it’s not even an entire song. It’s just a verse or a chorus or sometimes only a line or two. Someone else’s creative creation gets lodged in there, doing work on my mind that only I can hear.