The irreversible consequences of russification

Russian lessons started early,
as soon as you entered elementary school.
Zenith 5 pens were all the rage back then.
I ran to my mother to plead for one.
Afterwards I sat at my desk, indulging my penchant
for untwisting and twisting my Zenith 5.
So much that I knew its finest fiber by heart.
I could take it apart and put it back together, even under my desk.
Even with my eyes closed.
Once, through carelessness, I happened to shoot the spring,
which soared high into the air,
toward the newsletter with Dzerzhinsky on it, and it landed
in the middle of the classroom, as feebly as Gagarin,
for which I received a reprimand.
Time passed.
Even though I had a hard time with Russian.
And I even had to drop out of school.
To this day I can take a Zenith 5 apart
and put it back together with my eyes closed, rapt, like
a secret agent on a mission to kill the president.
I'm careful about the spring.

Krzysztof Jaworski