@ 27.105 MHz: Partiya Lenina, Sila Narodnya; Inessa Armand Complains About Her Lover

A devil's mustache on his bulbous head;

a style of clothes from which all dignity

(if any was there, once before) has fled:

the threadbare three-piece suit, the shabby shoes,

and stench of woodsmoke belched from leaking flues---

contributed much to the false impression

made by this failed lawyer whose sole profession

and (if he had a soul) his soul's desire

was to plunge Russia into Revolution---

the platform from which he could, then, exact

vengeance on all those whom he had long hated

(hatreds he never was short of, nor lacked;

and for that, many suffered in profusion---

tortured, starved, shot, strangled, or burned by fire).

I first met him just after the Titanic

struck ice (while showng off for wealth, of course).

Krupskaya's face belonged, more, on a horse.

His talk did not cease, even while undressing.

His foreplay was, frankly, an awkward guessing

dully prolonged until he mounted me---

as if ascending some high podium

from which he would deliver a great speech.

He thrust and panted, but was never sated:

human pleasure eluded his short reach.

I could not help but listen in bored silence

to Bolshevik talk that accelerated

as he delightledly anticipated

infliction of his fantasies of violence---

those would have struck a hired assassin dumb.

He could not go the distance, nor could come.

Toward love, as toward all else, his attitude

was just one tiresome Marxist platitude.


Author's Notes/Comments: 

The title includes some words from the now defunct Soviet Union's national anthem in praise of the so-called "Workers' Paradise."

View starward's Full Portfolio