14 March 2005 | Vol. 5, No. 1
If Chekhov Robbed a Bank
The goose gun rests against the window
like a sleepy passenger. The flivver idles
at the icebound curb, the cloud stagnant
and unruffled. He gets out, leaving the gun,
opens the back door. He slides the double-
bladed axe off the seat. This, he thinks, is
what happens when you put off business.
Bones equal taxes, how unequivocalable,
not unlike onions sautéed with wandering.
He remembers the seltzer bottle half way
to the door. The doorman in mink whistles
his boyhood warning warble, but the lenders
have gathered into a circle of blue noses.
Chekhov returns, asks the "Keyhole Sniffer" if
he wouldn't mind opening the door for him.
Down the street the baker wonders out loud
if it's too late for him to plant tulips
so that in his old age he can say he did.
About the author:
Christopher Burawa is a poet and translater. He lives in Chandler, Arizona, with his wife, Christina, and their two cats, Isabel and Moe.
For further reading:
See the complete list of work by Christopher Burawa at 42opus. Browse the contents of 42opus Vol. 5, No. 1, where "If Chekhov Robbed a Bank" ran on March 14, 2005. List other work with these same labels: poetry.
