A Politician’s Smile

A Romanian dancer; Laced in black; Stilettoed in the corner of my eye; Sees me. And I, with a smile, demur. And she does not.   Four languages of love; I manage two and mumble a third; Her advantage. I smile: coy. She holds her gaze.   Bucharest, she says. Ceaușescu, I reply. Vaccines, inventions, …

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