"Look straight ahead", he said, "And don't look up!" And we followed him out to a world turned to winter With cooked- meat smells, and smoke that choked And half-familiar butcher's-block sights. And we stumbled on things obscene Where sunlight and smoothness had been. "Look straight ahead," he said, "And don't look down!" But I did look. Saw two red-wristed hands still clasped- Hers enamelled and beringed, His so much bigger, almost covering hers. Here was a leg, still trousered; shoe in need of repair- And there a head, wideyed, with smouldering hair. "Look straight ahead," he said, "And don't look back!" But I did turn- And I wept, then, Until the grey dust that covered me became salt. For I could see into the very bowels of Hell, Into the eyes of the Beast, and hear its baying, And , tongue by tongue, the Nations' futile praying.

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