By Pavel Chichikov
Lyubov Sergeyevna,
You need a needle for your sewing machine
Russia falls apart, the seams come loose
Let's take a walk, it's snowing,
A pack of needles, even one, must be in stock
To sew the snow together
A man falls down,
It's slippery, and everyone is slipping on the curbs
The slicks of ice near the Lyubyanka
No needle anywhere,
But somewhere near the visa office
A man begs for a document
It's closing time
His visa will expire now, at midnight, soon –
The door is closed
‘You people have no heart'
He spreads his arms, he begs and shouts, he pleads
With the militia-woman
But she, who bears her teeth
Has fangs which grow and lengthen to a grin –
She laughs
Snarls and barks and howls –
For this is what the savior Christ has died for,
A wolfish grin
Lyuba, let's go home
There's nothing here for us to buy
And as for selling, only souls
This is the human stuff there is
And out of this He will make paradise
Has made it even now
But where?
Here, outside a kennel made of lead?
Give me a needle and some thread
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