Trafika Europe 13 - Russian Ballet

Eleven poems

A train runs through all Russia Along some great river or other. Barefoot passengers in the reserved seats, The conductors all half-sober.

In a sweet crust of fat and luxury Before the faces of one’s nearest Chicken drumsticks go floating by, Like trees in trembling water.

Through its greasy rail cars, Like saved souls in paradise, I walk in an army blanket And anxiously sing songs.

This business is lots more dangerous Than my conductor father thinks, Because a good song always Winds up into a scream.

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