Moscow Nights

A sleek black Mercedes

pulls up to the curb.

A man in patent alligator shoes

steps out from behind

the tinted glass.

Men in black rush to his either side.

A brightly painted girl

offers up her bouquet.

The man in alligator shoes

weighs his options,

nods his head.

Flowers are purchased,

the girl is taken. 

*

An old soldier passes by.

Ancient medals pinned

to threadbare suit

weight down his heart.

He lowers his head

as if in shame

for surviving so long

in enemy territory.

*

A mother with tattered child

stands quietly lost, nearby.

The old soldier

takes out a crumpled ruble note from

a beaten-up, outside pocket,

stuffs it into outreached palm

and shuffles hurriedly away.

In a miniature church

around the corner

black clad priests

slap at their collective girth,

synchronize their Rolexes,

begin their patent incantations.

Wax flames dance on

favored imitation icons.

*

And, so, a miniscule human mass

sways and genuflects

to a deep, melodic chorus,

exorcizing

its latest demons.

            *

In a separate world --

its oil slicks fenced off

from nearby bathers

scrubbing off their toil.

The city of reductionists
breathes a sigh:

The Motherland is secured –

For another night!

The just man

is covered up in shadow.