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.