Eleven Sixty-Seven, Parts IV and V

Eleven Sixty-Seven, Part IV

Today the street is closed
for Russian-American Appreciation Day or Something
and I almost called you to ask
you to come here for
Russian-American Appreciation Day or Something
until I remembered
you are Ukrainian, not Russian.

I’ve called you Russian enough times. Is that
bad? Do the Ukrainians
have beef with the Russians? Really, who doesn’t.
Really- the Russians are nearly as bad as we are,
as I am,
Really.

Russia. Snow, the Cold War, Ballet-
Did I tell you I finally saw Black Swan? It was
not too good- not as good as seeing a ballet-
but much cheaper. I didn’t like it-
now I am afraid
to go to the ballet. The time-lapse
photography in Black Swan- that was well-done.
Else,
rare-
at least it ought to be.

But you aren’t Russian, and we remind
each the other of each the other so much we make each the other
sick-
you especially intimidate me-
you are
a few years older, tall, handsome, your blond hair and beard, strong-
the Russian in those art deco propaganda posters, truly-
you make real money, and in a few years perhaps
I’ll make real money, but I’ll never be tall, handsome, strong,
as you are- but I will always
be Russian.

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Eleven Sixty-Seven, Part V

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