THE MEN OF MY COUNTRY

the men of my country

give up their seats on the subway

to the handicapped the aged

and to the passengers with children

but mostly they go on sitting

since these categories of citizens

have a pronounced tendency to die out

or travel by subway less and less often

the men of my country

they are saints under a heel

with trained insect jaws

with which they gnaw their way

to deserved fatherhood

and later having untied their hands

savor children’s flesh

using proscribed methods

of raising the younger generation

the men of my country

are not mutants or perverts

they are products of secondary processing

of amino acids

this is all that remains of the nation

which loves and honors its heroes

youths so roly-poly or with pit bull jaws

their love for motherhood

has outgrown all discernible limits

and become a signature style

the men of my country

wonderful specimens for an entomologist

for they are fragile like exotic butterflies

pinned to a piece of cardboard

they acknowledge the value

of every move every sound

for life is an unending crime

that has no justification

the men of my country

blow their noses simply into their hands

for the hand is the most useful organ

for such an important deed

they usually don’t have any other

important deeds to consider

the men of my country

make no effort

efforts ruin the liver

and their mouths smell bad

and have they really been born

to exert efforts

the men of my country

prematurely descend into the grave

and become weightless angels

an ideal raw material

for metaphysical speculations

a superfluous argument in favor of the existence

of god or what’s his name

Translated by Vitaly Chernetsky