Henry’s Premature Elegy For An Expatriate Russian Poet
Yet To Die

“I hate the Russians, they’re Neanderthals,”
Henry insisted as he tried to listen
to the nasty exiled Russian poet.

“He’s like a freaking truck driver,
the impatient little bastards
destroy half their loads

on the way here and there!”
The Russian finishes reading
and expects a standing ovation,

the foolish professors and students oblige.
The Neanderthal grunts his superiority
not letting on that the comrade’s still afraid of Khrushchev.