Harry Newman
Trotsky in Love Head filled with manifestoes,
Bolsheviks, Mensheviks, Five-Year Plans, the proletarian dictatorship; with Lenin, Bukharin, and the Georgian bully, no threat yet, but who could tell how his lip must curl beneath that mustache,
he never once considered the girl, the waitress, who stood by the bar after bringing his drink, a vodka, and watched while he calked, not hearing a word, not caring, but liking the way his mouth would move, always smiling, she thought; unci! he looked up one night as she put down his drink, looked up and saw her reaching towards him: "You're beautiful," he said. Now, he stood by the bar while she helped close up-chairs on tables, upside-down, an order inverted, but ordered still. She took his arm as they well[ out the door, working her fingers between his, took his arm against her breast, damp from sweat, and they walked through the streets, his city for now, through the square her apartment overlooked: a room, mostly bed. His eyes blinked shut when she turned on the light, such sudden light, and she slipped from her dress with less than a shrug, then sat on the bed as his eyes readjusted, sat there halC,naked arms by her side, fleshy, strong, waiting to pull him towards her. Summer 2004
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