Christine Kanownik

Enigmatic Bastard   

Somewhere, there are girls in cognac glasses  

Hiding from Russian Invaders.  

Boris is sick for them and sleeps  

For days on bar stools,  

Thinking that, after this dance,  

He'll go home, finding one.  

His fat arms would not hold them,  

So tiny, covered in Colombard grapes.  

They fell out window and heating  

Vents until he smothered the rest  

In typical copper Charentais stills. 

On the edge of her feather

She'll whisper in his ear

Only so he can’t quite understand.

Lips are skyscrapers and

She eclipses Boris.

It's ten degrees colder

Especially next to the lake.

Even the shadows are a brilliant

Red that bends around words.

Boris strains every inch

Of his ears toward her.

There are women somewhere

That would let him say words to them.

But will they sneak into his suitcase

Just to mismatch his socks?

Christine Neacole Kanownik recently graduated from North Park University. Now she works at Another Chicago Magazine, applies to graduate programs, and contemplates the poetic nature of the Power Rangers and Holiday Specials with the Murakami Sound Machine. Seriously,murakamisoundmachine.blogspot.com.