Kuzminvasya

sunny morning Vasya clad in heel-length terry towel

from the windowsill, the mandarin bush stretches out its branches to him

the house across the street dawns orange before his eyes

a pack of crab sticks and coffee without sugar for breakfast

(sugar isn’t to the true Macho’s taste)

“With love from Fyodor” written on the mug

and a little bunny with a giant butcher’s knife

Fyodor grins silently from his corner

twirls the new skull ring on his finger

takes aim for the pastry with the most cream

Lerik in his silk pajama stern in his just-awakened state

prepares a steam omelet steeps a tea of complicated composition

sprinkles the hoya plant grumbles crumbs on the tablecloth again

again you Fyodor go for it without a spoon too scared to ask

Seva and Kirill tumble out from the bath

riled up by an argument over the elimination of the death penalty

Kirill’s nose smothered with Seva’s special cream

strictly pure and natural and helpful against every ailment out there

including but not limited to the spots of acne visible only to Kirill himself

the dispute drowns out at the news of further plans

for some the Infanté retrospective for some role playing in World of Darkness

Lerik clears a space on the table for the teapot

moves the vase with Vasya’s roses over and smiles for the first time

you know, if you just imagine that you and I no longer exist,

I’d rather be more or less looking at all this from somewhere up above, wouldn’t you?