Babushka
                                                                                    by Scott Erb

She pushes to the head of the produce line
Wrinkled face, scarfe wrapped around her head
Elbows flash, she moves the young aside
Old worn boots, tightly wrapped skirt of faded red

Babushka
The remnants of the old generation
Out of place in a world turned around
She never dreamed of this as her destination
Somehow the plans had run aground
Babushka

Born in the days of revolution
Her father fought the Germans, her mother fought for bread
Then new leaders came and promised a solution
They were determined to move the land ahead
Drawings of Lenin, then billboards of Stalin
Slogans to future glory, young pioneers
So lucky to live in the Soviet Union
A new society absent oppression and fear

Still she never understood why her father disappeared
If only someone told Stalin what the local leaders had done
But then came the great war, no more time for tears
Though she lost her husband, victory was won
A war widow with a son

Babuskha
The remnants of the chosen generation
Only to find they’d been betrayed
No time for anger or frustration
It’s work enough to get through the day
Babushka

She still remembers the pride of sputnik
Huddled around the radio to hear beep beep beep
And though she liked Khrushchev’s smile and openness
Brezhnev brought stability, and rent was cheap

She dreamed of her son with a family
A retirement pension she’d certainly earned
And to glimpse that new society
When the last obstacle was overturned

She saved her money, proud of the accomplishments
Of a superpower that fought to the top
She never saw the decay hidden by the establishment
They were moving forward, progress could not stop

But who is this young man with heresy?
Glasnost, perstroika, just lines and barren stores
Whatever happened to the clarity
Hammer and sickle crash, the dream is no more

Her pension disappears
Inflation destroys the money she saved
Apartment in disrepair
Is this the thanks for all she gave?

Her son doesn’t seem to stop by at all
He left his wife and children years ago
He always stinks of vodka anyhow
She sighs and gets set to go

And pushes her way to the head of the produce line
Every wrinkle a memorial to her generation’s fate
They were to build utopia in the modern time
It was a lie, but they learned it too late

Babushka
The remnants of the cheated generation
Only to find it was all in vain
She closes herself to every indignation
The only way to remain sane
Babushka

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