I Used To Be Russian

Cataclysmic geology alters the land.
Cataclysmic human disasters causes us to move about.
A good many Irish left Erin because of the potato blight.
A good many native Americans went to missing
when we Europeans decided we needed a change from tired Europe.
After the Turks were booted out of the Middle Kingdoms,
and after Mr. Terrible was done crucifying European Jewry,
the poor Palestinians (like the Jews before them) would be forced to relocate.

It's the same old story, one of gore and glory.
Today, we here;
tomorrow, somewhere far and distant

When I testify I am Russian, by that I mean to say ---
my hometown was once located in the Union of Soviet Socialist Lies.
But beyond my Ural village, I knew practically nothing that had not been censored.
I knew there existed an America of greater and greater capitalist deceit.
And like the Irish (before me) I was cognizant that my plate was short of potatoes.
Still, I felt the umbilical connection to a greater homeland ---Mother Russia,
and so shall it remain until I die, though probably I'll be cremated right here in Brooklyn.
You see, it's difficult (and unnatural) for me to relate to America as a son would to a mother,
when America is more like the babe living next door.