"Sunny Day in Moscow"
A
poem by Philip
Hopkins
Each day they take a finger.
Crack! I hear it break before it goes
But Misha's ninety proof breath
Dulls the pain, distracts me, like his rough
Palms, and huge, sweating brow.
I tried to quit -- they wouldn't have it,
Of course. Now after they ruined Julika
Twice, she wants the rat poison, but it's too weak
To damage even those whose little feet
Still scuttle across our kitchen floor.
Rip-off artists, I'll tell you -- call it poison, sell
you greasewater
And she puked her guts up for a week.
One day these ugly knuckle-nubs will be shoved
Down his throat -- not Misha's but the bastard
On top of them all -- and I'll go out in a blaze
Of bullets, singing for Julika, Julika, Julika.
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