I’ve been talking all day to strangers—
about health and money,
the nature of the naïve,
how derision and whiskey will
mold a man into a spy.
I read the fashion page.
They take the ledgers and
a long view of forgery, larceny
and Black Label in a London suite.
Danger is discipline,
like the adulterer’s coded note,
balanced lies between lawyer and bribe.
If I take the long way bridge,
return a lighter briefcase
to the office after hours,
it’s only preparation
for a passport weekend.
Lingering over a bistro lunch,
circling three items in a Cartier catalog,
I take a town car to the heliport,
to debriefings, cash deposits
and a Fiji destination.
The balance, I tell the bartender,
is water to whisky. Discipline is
taking the long view of a lie.