The Ghostly Breath of Your Ancestors Comes All the Way Down from the Urals

It’s pronounced aperitif, though I said apartiff

For years until you corrected me.   

My hair still purrs and soothes itself like an angry cat.

It’s May 5th—do you also think
The number 5 is strange and forgettable?—

And I haven’t filed my income tax yet

Though I have a last-will-and-testament. 

I’m a prisoner in a factory that makes 

Snow-globes and hour glasses.

I have half a mind to sing with Billy Bragg

There is power in a union

But my other half of mind is entirely too cowardly.

I might stop into a church and pretend to pray—

Just like in "California Dreaming"

A happier less controversial song.

Remember when you pinned me down,

When you cornered me and the two or three

Clichés I pulled down between us?

You said I was just a backwater buckaroo 

In a jean jacket and Levis. I said the moon must roar!

You said qui se sent galeux se gratte!