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What fellow traveller returned from the U.S.S.R.,
Burdened with souvenirs in the form of second thoughts, said
That, rephrasing the Slavic platitude as a reactionary epigram? Thence
One must count oneself privileged to have escaped empty-handed,
Frisked in exit by the incompetent customs of the country
Who got everything backwards, inspecting my papers with a glass:
Bourgeois formalism apart, my handwriting looks like a decadent cipher.
“Chto eto?” The pocket epic or this wordy verse? “Poezia.”
Insisting it scans as prose they confiscate War and Peace:
The classic comeback: loved her, hated him, your eponymous warhead
In gremium qui saepe se reicit aeterno devictus vulnere amoris:
Even apologists for free love must confess this pair legally
Wed, a union no sentimental do-gooder likes to solemnize.