Berlin, November 1989

A cold night
For a tired London girl
To be walking the streets of Berlin.
The polar streets of Berlin.
Each seemingly a wind tunnel,
Blowing iciness into her inner core.
So she walked,
Head down
Hands in pockets
Intent on her hotel room
And a hot bath
To bleed blessed heat
Into her frozen bones.

Lifting her head
At the Kurfürstendamm
The better to cross the road
Tired London girl's eyes
Widened
To take in
The glorious sight.
A road filled with serpents.
Rail tails one way,
White eyes the other.
Teeny tiny Trabants
Devoid of colour in the glare
Of sparkling Christmas lights.
Each tin can crammed
With incredulous humans
Soaking up the brightness,
Breathing in the glitz
Unavailable for years

Tears in the eyes
Of tired London girl.
Cynicism washed away
At the sight of
Grey garment clad masses,
Their faces pressed against the glasses
Of the effervescent shop windows
Ironically, describing the brothers Grimm,
But none so grim and colourless
Than the lives they led.

Tired London girl's fingers
Explored her pockets
Feeling the gritty nugget
She'd struck from the Wall
Herself,
The night before.
How lucky she felt.
To be here,
At this time.
Nights like these,
Times like these,
Are magical.

Joining with "Imaginary gardens with real toads" open link Monday, actually inspired by their last prompt.http://withrealtoads.blogspot.ca