When we were young
we lived in fear:
the Russians — no, the USSR --
were coming for us.
We held our breath
and cowered under our desks
waiting for the end of the world.
Then the enemy collapsed
which every house of cards must do.
In its place rose
another illusion
a succession of threats and poses
poses and threats
from a man who would be king.
This new enemy is
smaller
with a small man’s bluster,
a pufferfish
with warheads to poison the world.
Today we sit and sip our wine
or fancy bespoke cocktails
and talk about the end.
We did this yesterday
and the day before.
No fear this time,
just resignation.
Because everything has changed
and everything is the same.
This much we can say:
It never ends well for the Tsar.
Common Cents 