man of steel
shaped by himself
into political necessity
i don't see its a big deal
russians killing russians
is what its all about
Two steps away no one hears our speeches,
All we hear is the Kremlin mountaineer,
The murderer and peasant-slayer,
His fingers are fat as grubs
And the words, final as lead weights, fall from his lips,
His cockroach whiskers leer
And his boot tops gleam.
Around him a rabble of thin-necked leaders —
Fawning half-men for him to play with.
They whinny, purr or whine
As he prates and points a finger,
One by one forging his laws, to be flung
Like horseshoes at the head, the eye or the groin.
And every killing is a treat
For the broad-chested Ossete.