Russian wine
Russian wine
It must have been a winter when the old tanker
sailed through the Dardanelles into the Black Sea
that was full of ice flakes
the tanker was loading black gold at a town I have forgotten the name of, but I recall how spare the street
lighting was on a wide boulevard
We found a restaurant in a stern-looking building
possibly built with Stalin as architect, we had caviar
and drank excellent white whine
the nomenclature sat there in their suit that
appeared to have too much fabric, friendly
sorts who smoked all the time
The dull Soviet Union still existed in its dullness
and general sadness that is over now, people
who makes good wine can't be kept down
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