By Ruth Danon
Tonight the spies
Are out in the cold.
This is not, believe
Me a literary allusion.
I mean a literal fact.
I mean exactly that
The spies are sitting
Bundled up in the
Front seat of a parked
Car on a quiet street.
They can’t turn on
The engine so they
Can’t turn up the heat.
They tug their woolly
Scarves around their
Necks. They are there,
Poor spies, to see
And not be seen. So
They wait in the dark.
For what? Who knows?
We don’t. That’s why
They are the spies
And we, we foolish
Bystanders, are not.