Today I wanted to share something by a dear friend of mine...this is his poem.
"Jewels of the Russian Revolution"
Faberge would've been proud: this
top-heavy peanut
infused with spiraling lines of tiny gems
twisting towards the base
in rows that never touch.
A passer-by might notice
Christmas lights splayed in the branches.
Drivers would see
barricades of blinking lights
keeping the crash scene safe.
But to the prying eyes of the patient,
garbed in the loose gown of drafty hallways,
inhaling the hiss of disinfectant anterooms
it was his portrait in black and white:
the silver print of his prostate.
The surgeon had loaded
sixteen separate syringes
with seventy-four seeds
of irradiated birdshot, blasting
intricacies via catheter
just behind the scrotum.
And this image,
the size of a postage stamp,
glued to a pathology report
for Blue Cross
would've piqued both Nicolas and Alexandra
by its shimmering glory
to keep the Bolsheviks at arm's length
for one more moment in time.
-Phil Lumsden
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