The Peasant Skims His Glossy Catalogue
by Mark Blaeuer
On a raw March day—I wouldn’t mind
if spring this year were a tad premature—
I run across an ad for a boxed set
of eighteen DVDs showing the czars’
art collection at the Hermitage.
I never splurge, ordinarily,
but now the wind cuffs our bungalow,
and flurries of diaphanous insects—
of tiny span—descend from mating flight
to ragged lawn, melt under, a deep loss . . .
It’s over. Though I can’t quite be accused
of furthering a wish for Romanov
execution, nonetheless I serve
as witness. Here is the official knell,
plus my Visa expiration date.