KEYS

All the lost keys in the world wind up at last

With Baba Yaga; she has long forgotten why

Some years, St. Balderamus, patron of locksmiths

And the Flamen Portunalis, priest of the god of locks,

Turn up with a long train of exhausted camels

Who swear fearfully, having no liking

For cold weather. Men and beasts are drunk

On grain vodka because water freezes

And because the Flamen distrusts

Water which isn’t part of an ocean or river.

Two days are spent, sometimes three,

Loading the camels with great loads of keys.

Baba Yaga feeds the men and camels porridge

Out of an enormous caldron. The camels spit

But the men say thank you. On the way home,

Almost every key contrives to get lost again.

If the flamen and Balderamus reach Trieste

With 70 or more keys between them,

The Triestines greet them with flags and song.