In the middle of the night,
I dreamed of Nikita Khrushchev,
the Satan of my American boyhood.
He stood over me, the fur hat,
the dark Soviet overcoat,
his expression between grimace and smile.
Then I awoke, sat up, thought
how like a benevolent grandfather
the Premier now appears.
© Tim Dwyer
Donald Trump reverts to type in debate – and it isn't 'magnificently brilliant'
Tim's chapbook is
Smithy Of Our Longings (Lapwing Publications). His poems appear regularly in Irish and UK journals, and forthcoming in
Cyphers and
The Irish Poetry Chair Commemorative Anthology.
