I, and my lovers

My mother’s first love broke his neck for the Weimar Republic; her second was exiled after Hitler’s demise. Long before the Velvet Revolution, we fucked in the firing line of cameras and tanks. But then a wall broken for freedom turned our passion to whimpers and drowned them in cards of sex business and videos. Is this what you wanted? cried the young man from Chemnitz. Now an old woman, I remember the peace years, the decades when we let love unravel and opted instead for online shopping. Outside, they are sharpening their axes, and striking about in word and deed. We shall rise from your ash, they scream as they tear down each post and lintel, and throw leather-bound books onto the bonfire of the frustration I, and my lovers, have sown.
Sylvia Petter