Actually, I like Russia
But want her to join Asia:
Doesn’t really belong to Europe;
Like she is there tired with a rope:
So much Asian bravado:
Others under my shadow!
Shall I forget her Brezhnev
To Cowboy Reagan, Quite Brave
Or her Yuri Andropov
Whom you couldn’t say was ‘Dove’
Then, they were dying much fast
Chernenko could not quite last
Also, like Russian Ruble
But from her sensing trouble
When efforts Russians double
To Dollar change with Ruble …
Actually, some friends’ gossip
But persons whose tongues don’t slip.
About an hour later she slipped
Yuri Andropov into the conversation:
*“I have to drop off a blouse at the dry cleaners.”*
Suddenly it was May Day &
I’m back in Red Square,
Dwarfed beneath larger than life
Lenin, Engels & Marx mug shots.
Inter-continental ballistic lorry loads
Roll past the reviewing stand, while
Geezer Reds in Ushanka fur hats,
Soused on *Stoli,* reeking of borscht,
Chain-smoke cheap Soviet Belomors.
I share these thoughts, handing
Mrs. Khrushchev the car keys.
Having cowered herself in terror,
Having ducked & covered many
Burial promises & shoe-pound threats,
She gives me a tired babushka smirk.
We are conjugal Cold Warriors,
Both weary now, creeping up on 70,
Skirmishes & brinksmanship behind us.
Tolerant of each other at last;
Lukewarm *détente* between us.
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