Less of a poem, more of a nostalgic cheddar toss.

I started writing this in my head on the
car drive home but my
damned computer takes so
damned long that I'm sure its all but gone.

I really do want us to go to Russia,
and I have these visions of водка and
if I knew the word for pickles you better
believe it would be here.

I'll probably never learn the language
because for some reason our System sees it fit
to begin teaching foreign tongues
the moment the brain is
too old to catch up.

Russia isn't so far from us, if we just
start the conversation.
Neither am I from you--the only difference is
the ocean.

I know how you love cheese, and
I try to never write so clearly. But
Я тебя люблю. And yes, I
also miss you dearly.