The Ukraine...

The terrain
full of worked out deposits of oil.
And the grain
rotting right on the fertile soil.
(Worth your toil and moil.)

And the rain
drowning people in acid and lye.
And a brain
pumped with shameless and insolent lie.
(While your sleeping dogs lie.)

And a crane
stiff with cold like it's gone to its rest.
And a crane
leaving home, its homelike nest.
(For the South, the West.)

And the train,
runaway that so often off the rails.
And the drain
of the brain that alas, never fails.
(Clearance sales).

The Ukraine...

1998