Friday, November 02, 2007

Lunch Poem

Shortly, & with
little warning, the
pools of hypocrisy
ice over & become
malevolent. We are
back in St Petersburg,
never having been
here before, but I
recognize the
ghosts. “Such pretty
lizards,” she said, then
raised her glass in
the general direction
of the sky. “Za vashe
zdorovye.” It was
a formal toast. No
story followed.


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