The Petrov Poems: Done (Lesley Lebkowicz)

He slides the documents
out of the KGB safe
into an envelope
and settles his future
under his shirt –
its straight edges buckle
against his belly.
He buttons his jacket.
It’s the end of the day.
He saunters out the front door
along Canberra Avenue.
Cypresses line
neat concrete paving.
He slows his breath
to breathe naturally
slows his pace
to walk slowly.
At home he shoves
the thick envelope
under the mattress.
For the first time in Australia
he feels like a spy.