The Poet and the Kiss
It was a small poets' club in Sydney,
Where local bards were wont to meet.
We'd come to hear the famed poet
Who has that night agreed to speak.
He spoke of love and hope and kindness,
Of conversation, the end of war.
An old woman, bent with sadness
Stretched up to whisper "Babi Yar."
He's tall. The poets seemed to
Be clustered around his feet.
Our eyes met; I mouthed "American"
And Yevtushenko reached across and kissed my cheek
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