Narrative Poem: Kyiv.

 Things were going pretty smooth at work.

I'd been back for a month

when the boss called me into her office.

She did not greet me wreathed in smiles.

She said "Torkildson, you've been in your

comfort zone for too long. Hasn't the

pandemic taught you anything?"

"Glub glub glub" I replied intelligently.

"From now on you're to keep your left

hand immersed in iced Tabasco Sauce eight

hours a day" she told me.

I thought to myself "Everybody else is

quitting their jobs and going to live in

Tahiti -- I'll do the same!"

But when I opened my mouth

out came: "Yes, ma'am. Glub."

I slunk back to my desk, where 

I found a stainless steel bowl full

of iced Tabasco Sauce waiting for me.

*******************

When I got back to my boarding house

that night my left hand was throbbing.

Mrs. Hoffnagel, the landlady, greeted me

at the door. 

She announced: "We're having salmon patties

for dinner tonight."

I said: "You know I'm allergic to salmon. May

I have just a salad please?"

"No!" she replied in ringing tones.

"I'm taking you out of your comfort zone

for your own good. Imagine -- you, 

a bachelor at 35! You need some shaking

up so you'll get on with your life." Her

arms were akimbo.

"But I lost my parents and my fiance

during the pandemic" I said quietly.

"Nevertheless" she shot back, performing

Katchaturian's Sabre Dance with a steak knife,

"You'll eat the salmon and like it. Your

comfort zone has held you back far too long!"

I slunk into the dining room and pretended

to eat the salmon patties --

pushing them under my plate when

no one was looking.

****************************

"Father, I have sinned" I started to say

to my priest while we were in the confessional.

The smell of wax candles always soothed me, so 

I had gone down to Saint Andrew's after dinner.

"Stop!" the priest commanded from the

other side of the grille.

A dormouse crawled over my shoe.

"You're too comfortable with your sins"

he said quietly. Butter wouldn't melt 

in his mouth; but margarine might.

He continued: "I want you to give away

all your wealth, join the Ukrainians

in their fight for freedom, and wear

sandpaper under your shirt for the rest

of your life."

*********************

I had my leg shot off at Kyiv. 

I traded the sandpaper under my shirt

for a ride to the nearest hospital in Macedonia.

There I caught the Coronavirus Lambda variant

and was quarantined in a comfort zone for six 

months. 

When I got out my feet smelled like 

the wick of a kerosene lamp.

But otherwise I'm still voting for

Ted Cruz when I get home again.