Yana – 30 Years young

by Michael Estabrook

She rotates her closet, removes and replaces

her wardrobe every two years –

“They’re either worn or unused,

time for some newer designer styles,” she says,

in her thick Bond-spy-girl Russian accent.

My friend says, that’s such a waste.

But I’m thinking – anything Yana wants . . .

I mean look at her, just look at her,

such a beautiful, confident little thing.

(Shame on me, I’m old enough to be her father.

But I cannot help imagining her 100 pounds of

perfect femininity glistening in the shower

bright and hot as the sun.)
How could any man deny her anything!

“If only I were 20 (or 30) years younger

and could speak a little Russian,”

I mutter to my friend, Craig,

as we walk back to our hotel.

“I don’t think speaking a little Russian

is the only problem you’d have,”

he responds as the freezing night

of Sweden blows right through our old, cold,

non-designer gloves and hats and coats.

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Filed under Issue 7, Poetry

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