Naked on Easter Sunday

Pamela Miller

Mistranslated from Anna Akhmatova

Yes, it’s unbecoming to primp one’s own oxygen
but oh, my oblivious nerves!
Pablo, I laugh at your party hat,
your kleptocracy peeking through the eyes
of the not yet born.

Flocks of annoying pelicans,
four tons of crinoline from Ghana –
nix, no thanks, ptooey! I prefer Mexico
where I can soak my kneeknobs in the ocean.
That’s where Alonso popped the question:

“Come home with me, nymph of Ohio!
Tomato of the anonymous moon,
elope with me and my famous bones.”
I retorted: “Wait a minute, WAIT A MINUTE!
You’re too toxic for my toboggan.”

It’s Easter and I’m naked.
Baryshnikov trembles in my palm.
Thank you, darling Balthazar,
for cranking up my push-pull heart.
I’m the cluster bomb who loves you like no other.