Author: Olga Gulyaeva
Translated by Anna Krushelnitskaya
I’m aware that time has passed for me to be a femme fatale.
Past my prime, I’m past the primetime, and in fact I’ve passed the ball.
My stick figure’s made of sticks, two dots, a comma, and two wings –
I was never really known for any femme-fataley things.
The Holy Spirit rides the sunrays, making houses cheerier.
I’m cracking macadamia at home in my Siberia.
This could be a nanorobot, or a balding dick, again.
There’s your Europe, cut your window, use your trusty VPN.
There’s your Europe, cut your window – ante-loping, anti-door.
This may be a shitty rhyme since it is not about the war.
Outside, souls are flying, whooshing, not through heaven, but through hail.
Outside, someone sings “Katyusha.” Inside, I just sit and wail.