Iron Curtain

Toma. Toma. Toma.
Why must you live such drama.
Your Russian blood seemed nearly at a boil.

The meltdown was ignoble
More destructive than Chernobyl
So out of place on someone else’s soil.

Flowers left dissected
And kindnesses rejected
With doctorate of chemistry in hand.

Ninotchka a la Tolstoy
Tossing acid at the Bolshoi
The Cossack on her stallion till the end.