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Michael Shorb
Chilling With Dictators
After the work of liquidating millions
what's a little relaxation in
expropriated gardens
rapture in hammocks
with blue distant Alps
languid under skullcaps of snow?
After the speeches in sports stadiums
billowing cigar smoke of
conference rooms muted
shotgun booms blazing in cellars
fires under the sea there's
no harm in patting the dog or
sliding your hand
down the blouse
of the mistress in pigtails.
Old devil moon is alive in the boughs
of deathcamp forests the gold
rings melted into troy
ounce bars and scowling
eagle belt buckles
for secret policemen.
And the black train
with its load of frozen birds
its kingdom of art treasures and violins
stuck in a snowbank on the Russian front.
While Beria bounces pudgy Svetlana
on his knee Stalin catches up on Gulag
paperwork
wine in the glasses
catches fire
Lenin and Hitler
play tennis on the clay
leaping and whirling like blood-
stained schoolboys, their laughter
echoing in the engines of the snow.
Copyright (c) Michael Shorb, 2005. All rights reserved.
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