Ernesto P. Santiago Poet Narrative

Chernobyl

Over a bottle of Stolichnaya vodka
And slices of kalbasa…. and cold breeze 
Of first September, you proudly spoke to me 
Of Lenin; we sat beneath the apple tree.

I disagreed not, with your thoughts
Neither, I agreed. It’s just I had no time 
To argue, nor speak about him right now, 
For my mind was fixated. A green apple

Teasingly, hanging above our heads; 
Come on, discussions…later, I childishly beg
As I kept lusting for the sweet juice of temptation; 
Tempted I was, it took me only one jump, for 

The fruit of my fleeting desire; 
Still, you refused to stop, talking 
About the great proletariat, who cares? 
Me? Hmm, nope, this green apple’s juicier 

Than what you’re telling; I wiped the thin dust off 
With my long-back shirt. Then, I opened my mouth 
To bite it; But, a passing, scraggy Babushka yelled:
“If you eat that apple, my son, you will die!”

Without asking her why? I threw it. 
Then, my friend Ruslanchik said: 
“Oh, I forgot to tell you,
We’re only 100 km away from our black history!”

♡Like0

Share Poem

---

Post Comments

Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.

Please Login to post a comment