A
Quarter Century after the Wall Fell
Early each November
Watching programming she knows
And never could forget:
A cast of dour, sullen satraps
Reading from scripts others wrote
Totally incapable of ad-libbing
To hundreds of thousands
Totally tired of hearing mendacity.
Her tears flowing like the Elbe
Northwestward, through the border
Whose permanence was endured,
She sits a half-day’s drive
From when she watched long ago.
Born the year the Wall arose
That decisively sundered the city,
She waited in line for a future
Drabber than what she deserved
But as inevitable as the next dawn.
Sudden stumbling toward unity
Granted her what she most desired.
Her tears are not only for the past,
But also for the unexpected life she has.
Arthur Turfa © 2014
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