Russian Poem 2


these old people
with their complaints
their tight collars
the narrow accents
cocked heads, raised palms
filling their empty heads
with every grumbling 
gulag story to pack up
and take back to
Flatbush and 49th

the customs hysteria
the cubans in the corner
the same things 
they come with
they leave with
like loose luggage
in the aft compartment
or kopeks they might
have spent in the beriozka
for more chachkas

seeing not the heart
of the thistled rose
expecting America
in the dusty depths
of Samarkand
they are feckless
in their inability
to feel the verities

on the airplane
submerged in the drone
of the prop
the man is serving hot water
"Tea?" she asks
"Nyet" he replies
well I don't want any
she says resolutely