The Wife of a Dead Russian Diplomat
I was the second wife
of a recently deceased and very high ranking
Russian diplomat ..
Is what she said, when I asked her why she
lived in such a remote
Bulgarian asylum, instead of some mansion
The only faithful one too,
she added, with residual regal composure
and some disdain ..
The rest, except for one and that one, being me,
are now already very dead ..
Indeed it is because of him and his many fancies
I am forced to languish here ..
I imagine the same thing must happen in America
Excuse me, I am English and no ..
I replied, perhaps too loudly, I don’t imagine it does ..
Then feeling dreadfully guilty
because I think, perhaps it did, I bought her cigarettes ..
I also gave her half my white Rakia
which we drank in the square of some local martyr in silence
It was thirty nine degrees in the shade of our orek tree ..
After all, it was a very pleasant way
to while away a few hours, on what might otherwise
have been, just another melancholy day ..