I Never Lived The Aristocratic Life Poem by Alexandre Nodopaka

I was made in Kiev yet delivered some
93 hundred kilometers away in Vladivostok
on the coldest of days in January 1940.

It took a long time to get back on a Trans-
Siberian choo choo. Back then it took
nine days to traverse that vast country.

So here! Dr. Zhivago!
Don't tell me it was a fun ride, though
yours may have been more than mine.

By then I was one-and-one-half year old,
swaddled to my eyeballs, on the ride
of my life. Sadly it didn't qualify me for

the Guinness Book of Records. Yes,
I could've been famous for fifteen minutes
fifteen years before the book was thought of.

So here I develop the telluric forces
of my narrative portion and when all
the Homeric archetypes burst forth

my story will have been told. But back
to my story. Shortly afterward the Germans
invaded my space from where we fled

to that most of exotic places, Casablanca
that Bogie never ever went.
That wraps my adolescence in a colonial

philosophy and is why I spoiled in my
teen age years with a colonialist life-style
andis the reason to this day, why I appreciate

slavish tokens of appreciation from
the then girls that soon were to become
the aristocratic femmes fatales in my life.