-It's been a cold, cold war-

1.

downtown. 1962 or thereabouts. I’m drunk on orangeade;

hopped-up on chow mein, here at the busy China Royal.

(in a booth the size of a red-leatherette continent after the movies

with friends, and more than a hint of tension in the air, talking about

the space race, arms race, mutual destruction race with the Russians,
who were kicking our ass with their powerful rocket thrusters which
had the look of powerful rocket thrusters;
fat, grey-black, thunderous, menacing looking things.)

now, walled within our half-moon booth, we're talking about the cold war;

of how long that flash of light will linger, of how the blast's burn

will blister our skins, of how the blood will boil in our veins, and–––

will we see it coming?

all the while feasting on chow mein, and orangeade with ice. (no straw)

on hot summer nights while drinking orangeade, I liked the ice
to form a cold, convex semicircle between my nostrils and upper lip.

2.

this happened not only on the night under discussion, but also
on a number of other nights during the cold war.

addendum:
regardless of the USSR's lead in the power ratings of rocket thrusters,
an accounting from within our booth regarding "total destructive capabilities",

overwhelmingly favored the United States, and although the "Ruskies"

had the ability to destroy the entire world 10-times over, the United States

had the ability to destroy the entire world 15-times over, the tabulation showed,

with one voting "present." 

3.

J.F.K. said: (when warning of the futility inherent in a nuclear war, that)

"the fruits of victory would be ashes in our mouths."

whew! it's been a long, long night at the sweltering China Royal.

Myrtle,..set me up with one last orangeade.

no straw.

lots of ice.

It's been a cold, cold war.