Decorating In Moscow (ID)

A Poem in Blank Verse

Photo by Megan Nevils

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The walls are harder plaster here, drywall
Dreaming of something beautiful. Driftwood there
Above the fire, and heavy bookends hugging
First editions—second maybe. A piece
Of art behind it all, a ship at sea.
Three colors at the most: the blue, the white,
The brown. A corner houses all: fire,
Mantle, more, so look to the left,
Where a wall is,
slate tiles three,
Inked over and mapped with
fake Latin, see?
Suburban rap, Delta blues, Midwest
Manners and Northwest shoes
abide here.
Pass the wall on the right (it’s just a window)
And the next one too, below which a couch—
But wait: This wall holds the door, and a sign
Of tin, on which Mr. Brando sits, looking
Off to the left, beflanneled. Turning more,
Past the door, and this wall holds the bigger
Piece: Abstract but recognizably a shore:
Teal, white, beige—the lighter answer
To the rest of the room. This at least is what
I’d say if any troublous person objections
Interpose (don’t be distracted by the
Rose), for the boys of Britton Lane
decide here.