back in the USSR

i was in prison,

in Siberia,

caught smuggling nighttime Nyquil

across the border.

i rolled it up

in my gym socks along

with a pack of spearmint gum.

i remember

breaking big rocks

into little

rocks at the Gulag.

we were making gravel

stones

for families

back in Moscow.

i was sentenced to fifty

years of hard labor.

daytime Nyquil would have

been half that.

it was very cold.

my lips were blue all the time,

and my

fingers,

that i wrapped in seal blubber,

were stiff.

i could hardly move

them. my piano

playing days were over,

before they even began.

but then i met Dasha.

she was a cook in the kitchen.

i never

thought wolf

burgers would be so tasty,

once you picked the hair out,

but Dasha had a gift for making

something out

of nothing.

we became friends by a series

of eye winks.

i learned morse code

when i was in the boy scouts,

and she learned

it when

she was in the KGB.

eventually, the president made

a trade for me.

a nuclear weapons mad scientist

for me.

a pretty fair trade.

they threw Dasha in

as part of the package deal.

we're back in the states now

and i'm working at

Home Depot

carrying bags of gravel out

to people's trucks.

but i don't trust my

new bride,

just yesterday i caught

her looking under my mattress,

and planting

a little bug in the overhead

light.

but she's quite the chef.

sadly,

i never did get my spearmint

gum back.