I wake, my neighbors’ moans
echoing through the wall.
Love, talking to you was
like talking to the wall.
Camelot when Khrushchev
dropped The Iron Curtain.
Raygun when Mr. Gorbachev
withdrew The Wall.
The failed assassin turned
to face the firing squad,
saluted and snapped to,
ramrod back to the wall.
“As he shut the door”
Nick “saw Ole Andreson”
lying on the bed, still
dressed, his face to the wall.
My mother’s cousin
went to ‘Nam in ’68.
I felt his name, Rosario,
etched into The Wall.
Roy Chapman Andrews & Co.
cruise The Flaming Cliffs,
missing links on wheels
scouting bones fused to the wall.
Nazim, Martin Luther, Paul
and Nelson, holy jail birds.
You saw the promised man,
your only view the wall.
The vanquished tear their hair,
wail for God’s vengeance.
Does God buy the promises
that imbue The Wall?
Here he comes. The great
man, Mr. Visionary.
Once more Humpty Dumpty
takes the stage. Cue the wall.
Them and us? Only the
dead are blameless, Amos.
For the rest of us, let your
Plumb Line true the wall.
Why not get married? you
said. So what did I do?
Instead of a diamond,
I gave you the wall.
I lie in wait for the
“wounded gazelle tonight.”
So Shahid, how does one
say in Urdu “the wall”?
Clever slave, so you think
you’ve mastered your master?
Be careful, Eugene.
Real Ghazals go to the wall.
First published in Contemporary Ghazals No.6, Winter 2016.
Published online in Poetry in Form, June 5, 2017.
Image: “The Wall” / Photo by Mike Kniec, Aug. 23, 2014. Licensed under CC BY 2.0.