Chernobyl

Over a bottle of Stolichnaya vodka And slices of kalbasa…. and cold breeze Of first September, you proudly spoke to me Of Lenin; we sat beneath the apple tree. I disagreed not, with your thoughts Neither, I agreed. It’s just I had no time To argue, nor speak about him right now, For my mind was fixated. A green apple Teasingly, hanging above our heads; Come on, discussions…later, I childishly beg As I kept lusting for the sweet juice of temptation; Tempted I was, it took me only one jump, for The fruit of my fleeting desire; Still, you refused to stop, talking About the great proletariat, who cares? Me? Hmm, nope, this green apple’s juicier Than what you’re telling; I wiped the thin dust off With my long-back shirt. Then, I opened my mouth To bite it; But, a passing, scraggy Babushka yelled: “If you eat that apple, my son, you will die!” Without asking her why? I threw it. Then, my friend Ruslanchik said: “Oh, I forgot to tell you, We’re only 100 km away from our black history!”