Bird's Needs
Salute to a Russian dancer
By Tatiana Pahlen

She had a small head of a bird;
so was her brain — minute but remarkably
focused,
except not on those things other birds focused upon,
things like, "birds do it,"
not at all lovemaking — moneymaking,
essentially extorting it from men.
Balancing her vulgar manners with a girlish giggle,
she could charm a fool.
Was she a pro?
Among various yarns she told us,
she danced at Kirov and Bolshoi in times of yore.
Bolshitski!
I only witnessed from her ballet movements
those curved, trained thighs.
She spread them as often as she had a chance
to lure attention she had yearned so earnestly
mainly to pull off her goal:
Collect the MONEY!
The Salvation Army didn't solve her quandary:
the soldiers died half way to the wasteland.
A number of bad lieutenants are mopping floors in jails,
some ancient men bedridden and senile,
they won't tell the difference in words like
ingredients and greedy.
And needy? Oh, she was!
With age it's getting worse.
May someone end this curse?
Your sympathy is sought,
or shall I dial — The Red Cross?

November 1, 2001

Copyright © 2001 Tatianyc. All Rights Reserved.