PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

That damned fool Lenin, far too full of himself:

he does not even suspect that we, guards, have put

Alexei and Kolya out of his reach---this undisclosed site.

My pistol, unloaded, sits high on a shelf.

No inner guard carries---much less deploys---

rifle, shotgun, or any instrument of death.

I will not bring to either one of the boys

that moment of demise, of the last breath:

that order from Lenin we adamantly refuse.

From dawn to dusk, Alexei and Kolya frolic barefoot

on a large lawn so well trimmed, that even small rocks

have been removed.  And, almost every day,

Alexei and Kolya spend hours to play

spirited rounds of that very Irish game---Croquet.

Each likes his baggy trousers and rather roomy shirt:

but their feet are never confined in any shoes.

At dusk, their habit is to put on semi-sheer socks.

And, as long as nothing goes awry or amiss,

they dance together beneath night's stars in array;

while, only with each other, they coquettishly flirt;

and, when they think no one is looking, they kiss.

J-Called