Klaus Fuchs is Not in the Poem

A Cold War Spy, A Long Way from Home

Cloudy pressure in my head
better knock off
for the day. Wake
up gray. Grain
in film,
Your eyes scratched.
You really feel this way,
am I a pass time,
an amusement. I play
chicken.
When the true
end comes
to hell and all. The false
blood donor cards I present
to you take.
All I do is
take.

Alger Hiss.
A cold war spy,
a nervous beauty
stumbles by.
I see it all before
me. The news,
the bold face font,
frowning before face.
Reel, forward catching the lost,
key home.