24/02/22, 7pm, Moscow
I lie to my faux family,
say I am off to evening classes
and sneak out to the cinema.
I seat myself at the back
(not where the ticket says
but couples’ row is empty today)
and Licorice Pizza plays as I peer
at the Muscovites below.
Not many – a dozen? –
but enough to make me question
what they are doing namely here.
Here reclined in plush seats,
not at home contemplating war,
not taking to the streets.
I justify my own cowardice
with Foreign Office advice to
be vigilant and avoid any demonstrations
but guilt chokes my laughter
as I picture my newly forged friends
risking arrest. Ukrainians facing death.
I leave the country the next day
and wonder whether American
films will be forbidden.
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