If you know me, then you know how much I appreciate understanding why people do the things they do. When I get to know someone’s psychology, I feel closer to the person (for better or for worse). So, here is a tribute to– Actually, I’ll let you figure it out.
“Mr. Khrushchev, sir.
Do you have what it takes
to bleed but not scream
when I rip off the Band-Aid?
“How will you respond
to Kennedy’s ‘quarantine’
around mi isla bonita, Cuba—
a naval blockade?
“I know of your treasonous letter—
‘blind moles’ and ‘goats on a bridge’—
to the Irish Catholic
who bribed his way to fight
in the South Pacific.
“Mr. Khrushchev, sir.
I have a game we can play.
It’s a game of will—
‘will to power.’
“Unlike your precious pastime (chess),
a game of strategy and intellect
that sours the beast within
to live unscathed within
the walls of your precious Kremlin.
“No need to bring a change of clothes.
You won’t stay long
if you come at all.
I’ll provide the suicide bicycle
if you provide the fight song.
“Mr. Khrushchev, sir.
Can I count on you to come?
We’ll ride shirtless
with the perfume
of cigar smoke and guava
on our breasts
like illegitimate children,
owning everything
and bound by nothing
(or is it–owning nothing
and bound by everything?
I forget. No matter.).
“Here is my mantra.
Here are my rules.
“Blood is our ally.
Pain our final prize.
“The loser:
The first who hits the brakes.
The first one who cries.
“Mr. Khrushchev, sir.
We light ourselves on fire.
We as lief pedal to the church.
Speed chokes the life
from the flames.
So it pays to be first.
“We ride,
foaming at the mouth,
headlong into St. Peter’s outer wall.
“Do you suppose, sir, the winner
of a nuclear holocaust—
the one whose flight careens into a crawl?
“No. Mr. Khrushchev.
It’s the prefect of power:
A cracked skull.
A monster.
A bloody mess.
“It’s the first one over the handlebars:
The one the priest will bless.”
If you’re still having a hard time guessing, watch this short film that inspired the poem. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NHVpuhApSC0&t=8s