Oh, for god’s sake, let’s not talk about the coming winter
or soldiers waiting outside, rifles readied—
wave them in for a gin.
A ‘40s hit song is what we need right now.
Think of the bars and cafes we loved,
friends who stood us a drink
surely some are still living, somewhere.
For every Putin, there must be thousands
of kind-faced nurses waiting in tents,
bandages in hand, and a mother will kiss
every child’s bloodied knee. Listen to that wind
trying to find a way in here.
Anticipatory anxiety, it’s called.
Your fingers give mine a squeeze,
I’ll take that for reassurance, for calm just before.
Want more tonic in your cocktail?
Raise your hand, the rose-sellers
will approach, a smile at the ready.
