|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
||
|
|
|
|
||
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|||||
|
|
||||
|
|||||
|
||||
|
|
Brr! It is Cold Outside
She of the vague and distant perfume
Wafted from the
Herb and spices mingled
With the scent of the Orient
Stirred the martini with pink tipped finger
Slowly spreading stain
Traveled across her shirt front
Non-plussed for a moment
Heavily into a mushroom
Filled with cheese.
Seized there and then
By a double digit spasm
The latest poll showed thirty three
Hopefully in guarded tones
Bemused into wondering
If I dare tell her
I knew someone in
A Senator (with a leer and a knowing wink).
I was struck by a vague premonition
Hovered over an egg roll
Stunted and badly dwarfed
He whispered furtively in my ear
Diplomat of dubious Swedish origin
C.I.A. dream turned into a nightmare.
They floated before my distorted vision
Came in silent platoons
Attired in gray flannel suits.
The clouds, ah, the clouds
Gathered ominously over the Balkans
(Farewell my darling Liebchen
She of the vague and distant perfume)
The Zhilkov telegram (curse them)
Had just come over the wire
The cover was blown
All of us God help us
Were out in the cold.
Jack Mashman |
|
|
|
||||
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
||||
|
|
|
|
|
|
||||
|
|
||||
|
||||
|
|
||||
|
||||
|
|
||||