About an hour later she slipped Yuri Andropov into the conversation: “I have to drop off a blouse at the dry cleaners.” Suddenly it was May Day & I’m back in Red Square, Dwarfed beneath larger than life Lenin, Engels & Marx mug shots. Inter-continental ballistic lorry loads Roll past the reviewing stand, while Geezer Reds in Ushanka fur hats, ****** on Stoli, reeking of borscht, Chain-smoke cheap Soviet Belomors. I share these thoughts, handing Mrs. Khrushchev the car keys. Having cowered herself in terror, Having ducked & covered many Burial promises & shoe-pound threats, She gives me a tired babushka smirk. We are conjugal Cold Warriors, Both weary now, creeping up on 70, Skirmishes & brinksmanship behind us. Tolerant of each other at last; Lukewarm détente between us.