Kiev
em = By Duncan Richardson
Rumour has it
they're closing you down,
Hitler's city
Napoleon's town
but neither wanted this much
from you,
no demon terrifies like friends
who know what's best.
Since Chernobyl's cupolas
let go their onion skins
you scrub your hands raw,
but fumes still make your eyes water
your gums, sore
six years on.
And can't you almost see
around the planet
chefs discreetly scribbling
a new chicken speciality
to tempt the jaded planet?