Suitcases

"Brown leather, nothing but the best" he said,
His family lived well. This sturdy case
Had been to Biarritz and back again.
Its partner travelled with his son and wife, 
To Switzerland, stuffed full of jewels and clothes.
They made it, just. My master stayed too long.
That extra day of business was his last.
Leather is heavy. Porters carried me
On holidays, but on this final trip
My master staggered to his journey's end.
His soft hands blistered with the weight of me.
You get no service on the road to Hell.

Another case, a dark grey cardboard one. 
With worn old shirts and yellowing underwear.
His overcoat was pawned. I held the rest.
The men who carried us, Heinrich and Ernst,
Who never would have mixed in outside life,
Struck up a friendship in their final days,
Picked lice together by the barbed wire fence.
Death's a great leveller that knows no class.
A few weeks' "Arbeit" frees a man from wealth.
The millionaire and tramp both look alike
When spat upon and herded to their graves.