The Russian Agent

The Russian agent stepped out
from behind the blue sky curtain.
He held the gun firmly in his hand.
The oak wardrobe stood in the corner.

Downstairs, the guests were chatting.
The prime minister was already sleeping
in the library. Champagne
and triple-aged scotch.

Stars over the patio.
Horse-shaped hedges reared
in half-moon shadow.
The senator’s wife laugh
echoed across the yard.

The Russian agent heard fireworks.
The wife heard a shot.
The hedges heard a starting pistol.
Drinks were spilled.

The oak wardrobe stood in the corner.