Under white linen:

A boring conversation 

      Someone’s father tells a joke about perestroika

      that someone does not understand

though someone laughs anyway

to be in the circle of friends

           who can interpret jokes appropriately with laughter;

      he surreptitiously, not maliciously,

      pours hot wax, from centerpiece votive,

      into sweaty callused palm

waits for the wax to dry —

 then again, he decides to formulate a wax glove.

      So the project begins:

            Drips on pinky and index finger

            wait anxiously to dry

                  and more drips.

During desert, the inevitable metaphysical question:

      How will the glove be removed?

                  Grownups swig last coats-on sip

                  but no answers resound,

                  only everyone waiting for the wax to dry.

by francis raven

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