Lenin Meets Judas Poem by Alexandre Nodopaka

Now here's a dozen plus one gringo
loungin' in an idyllic settin' fit for kings
that sure looks good as a Toyo Sesshu ink wash
‘cause in the background
right behind ‘em baldin' monkish lookin' dudes
there's three semi-ova-topped bay windows

from whence protrude in like bas relief
a quarter-dozen half-dome mountain peaks
above what looks like yuck-filled L. A.
I mean exactly like the ones you see
in Chinese paintings with ‘em crests hoverin'
midway between Feng and Shui mixed with Chi.

Remarkably, the table ain't loaded as for pigs.
There's only three mugs. They're painted all silver,
which means there's only three boozers
and I don't think the handsome bearded one
with the lanky face is one of them unless
‘em hoodlums share in. I don't think they do

‘cause it ain't ‘cause of poverty either ‘cause
of ‘em sleek Egyptian linen robes they wear.
I say this ‘cause ‘em fellahs look well fed
and they ain't dressed in cheap slave servant rags
though I notice a few oily stains on the table
on account of the scattered half-eaten croissants

and ‘em guys must've had some snails too
‘cause of all the shells litterin' the floor
which makes me think it's a greasy French Bistro.
Now let me tell you how funny
their gentile faces are with their pink cheeks
and Roman aquiline straight noses.

They're all of fair complexion and blondish.
I mean there couldn't be a single Jew there
unless they, includin' the chiksa, had nose jobs
but I bet two of ‘em might be old Bolsheviks
‘cause they sit bare feet with no sandals.
Well, yah know, skinhead is what I mean.

And I ain't too sure if they are Commies
but I'd be wholly convinced if they were
sipping Vodka from their saucers of which
I don't see none. Most disturbin' there ain't
no Manishevitz in sight but while I'm at it
Laheim to Trotsky and the bourgeois traitor.