In Belarus, the fourteen-year-olds one thin flight away
Heard Oswald singing in the shower,
In his cool American. It was 1959. In crush
They sent a note to say how sweet
A songbird he was then.
Dear Girls, he wrote, I want very much to meet you, too.
Four Novembers later not far from West Virginia, we were scooped
Back home from elementary school in rain not-quite-yet snow
To put our heads down in the mink-skin of our mothers’ laps.
Open Carry is the law in Oklahoma now.
I just feel more safe, said Joe Wood, cocked
Among the waffles and the syrups and the diners
At the diner there. On the jukebox, Lefty Frizzell
Is singing “Long Black Veil” inside the flannel rain.
Well back beyond the Iron Curtain, I write to you tonight
From Minsk, where no child will ever cry into my lap, all seal
And cashmere, chintz. I put my eye against the peephole
And see the leafless world all quietened.
My little gun’s a Lady one. I just want to feel secure
And I’m probably dead on. I want very much
To meet you. I would be, as ever, yours.