“Russia” by Brian Kim Stefans

Wednesday, January 11, 2017

The e-mail notification from Facebook said that Brian Kim Stefans’s post began, “Russia I gave you all and now I’m nothing.” A pertinent parody was obviously awaiting me, so I logged on immediately, and his poem proved to be a scrumptious repast. It’s just what I needed, given the international machinations of the past three months. I immediately asked for permission to reprint, which was granted forthwith. So without further ado, it gives me great pleasure to turn the stage over to my guest artist for the day, Brian Kim Stefans and his poem, “Russia.”


Russia I’ve given you all and now I’m nothing.
Russia a Netflix subscription, a respectable credit rating and my way around BitTorrent, January 10th, 2017.
I can’t stand my own water.
Russia when will we end the human war?
Go fuck yourself with your American Presidents and legions of NY Times trolls.
I don’t feel good don’t hack me.
(Ok, hack me.)
I won’t write my poem till I’m in Ann Coulter’s right mind.
Russia when will you be autotelic?
When will you take off my Reeboks?
When will you look at yourself through the prism of Game of Thrones?
When will you be worthy of your million Michelle Obama fans?
Russia why are your libraries full of copyright infringements?
Russia when will you send your kale to Big Sur?
Your cell phones to Nigeria?
I’m sick of your jock-like demands.
When can I go into the supermarket and buy what I need with the bare fact of my American citizenship?
Russia after all it is you and I who are perfect not the Mexicans.
Your democracy is too much for me.
You made me want to be a saint (or a Korean).
There must be some other way to settle this Facebook thread.
Assange is in Ecuador I don’t think he’ll come back (it’s fine).
Are you in Ecuador or is this some form of practical joke?
I’m trying to write a sonnet.
Russia I feel sentimental about Credence Clearwater Revival and Viktor Tsoi.
Russia I used to be a Jedi when I was a kid and I’m not sorry.
I eat kale every chance I get.
When I go to Chinatown I get drunk but you get laid.
My mind is made up there’s going to be Marx.
My psychoanalyst thinks I’m the Lord’s Prayer.
I have mystical visions and cosmic vibrations and I still haven’t told you what you did to Spongebob Squarepants after he got his hair sporked on Jimmy Fallon.
Russia I’m putting my queer shoulder to the wheel!

Comments are closed.