First of September
by Adam | Sunday 2 September 2007
On the border, there are jackals,
bearing down with their eyes,
less like predators, and more
as olive presses do.
I say Tolstoy, like my dying word, on
the very day they named his city
Petrograd.
You pick the other Russian
titan, smiling like its your first word,
said on the very day the war advance
began.