POUNDIAN POETRIES
___________________
RON SMITH
LENINGRAD
Out of the depths the Party said would
save the faithful, I rolled on thunder
toward the light of Leningrad
amid a forest of silent
colonels in their perfect
uniforms. How long it took us
to reach the top! Then my Cold War nightmares
stepped toward the green shacks bejeweled
with merchandise
and it was not Leningrad,
but Petersburg, and they fanned out
toward the cans marked "Gin"
and the bananas and backpacks hanging like traitors
in the March glare of a rare clear sky. "Pardon,"
said the one I'd blocked, and the world
was safe, reeling
toward oblivion.