The forgotten whereabouts of Egon Krenz
by Jonathan Timbers
[ poetry - june 09 ]
When the wall fell,
I took the unusual step
of phoning my Father.
After watching the guards
stand around whilst the crowds flowed passed them,
like their batteries had run flat,
we both agreed to be fearful;
he, of a united Germany,
me, of capitalism without borders.
In the 1980’s, that was as near we got
to a civil conversation.
Thirteen years later, he
died of a rare blood cancer
usually confined to those
who witnessed A bomb tests
first hand.
As to my suggestion that
it might have been caused
by the uranium he used
to carry in a lead box
in the back of his car,
taking it out to demonstrate
the safety of nuclear power,
he brushed it aside
like a cobweb.
