Spies

A while ago I wrote this poem about two spies.

One of them falls for the other.

Ioana Birdu poem

She wore a knee-high cherry dress

hair up, like in the movies.

long heels, sharp eyes and lips,

that shone like rubies.

and for a moment I confess,

I knew she looked like trouble

and me, right there, I didn’t care

I only was his double.

You’re hard to find, she said to me,

a hand inside her pocket.

She took it out, her little gun

what could I do to stop it?

And then it all came back to me

like flashbacks in a story

all the things we’ve yet to see

and all the people we can be.

Will you remember, Rosalee?

those things that haven’t happened yet

that kiss we’ll share in old Tibet?

all these things I said to her,

yet she did not remember.