Boris Red. (№ 270888)

And sometimes the father spoke to me,
he sees about duck hunting
the dreams continue: boat and a shotgun.
And lake, where each island
of his sign. He said: not seen
I lake this reality
transparent, there is some hunting! -
imagine... And yet, what do you know
about our about hunting!
Bored, I stood up from the table
and went to read some Kafka,
feeling sorry for myself and write poetry
for Brodsky, that people
of course, alone in the square,
no, in Cuba. Or reluctantly called
a married fool, loving poems
for Brodsky, and along with me
some exotic love.