On A Clear Day I Can See Russia - Poem by Alexandre Nodopaka
Yesterday I went fishing in San Clemente.
The weather was at its best with Cirrus clouds
quiet as whispers instead of political shouts.
Walking up the pier the one-foot wide boards
point to Vladivostok. My place of birth.
They are neatly lined like foot-wide herrings.
Doubling them is a measure of the legal length
of fish that are keepers. It was my unlucky day.
I caught a threesome. All undersize and the
thought crossed my mind that marinating them
in wine and sour cream and changing the ocean
into Vodka would satiate with Russian gods.
Yes, I know, you Yanks implemented everything
but we Rooskis invented everything.
And so I caught three more silver fish.
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