|
Thanks
They coughed out their lungs for years,
spewed tubercle bacillus clouds; yellow,
pergameneous skin ornamented with blue
numbers by the accountants of Hell;
dying in Fall, in the sixties, when rains
soaked the soil and steps slurped through
muddy soup in cemeteries. Orphaned
teenagers, depressed by the bodies in
white sheets sliding into the gaping ground,
walked away into the woods to smoke;
flirted through the rain-crying branches,
amidst the crosses of the Red Army Saints.
ã 2002 Sasha Uaeio Dror
|
|
