Dreading bullets or words not an ounce,
When alive, I was not weak or sickly
And no regular mold did I fit!
But right after my death was announced
I was set on a pedestal quickly,
And they wrote “Achilles” on it.

I can’t shake off this flesh, made of stone,
Can’t extract from a pedestal granite
This Achilles, this world-famous heel,
Since my ribs and my scull - every bone
Are held deadly by concrete - God damn it!
Down my spine only cramps do I feel!

When alive, broad and wide were my shoulders -
Catch’em flying!
SOS! Was I cut by the molders
After dying!

I am wedged in a narrow frame,
Boy, it pinches!
And the span of my shoulders came
Down to inches.

My smart relatives couldn’t be faster
In arranging a posthumous mold
Of my face seconds after my death.
But my Tartar cheekbones off that plaster
Were erased by some hand, rude and bold,
No one knows who did this, I guess.

Didn’t crave it, or rave, even dreaming,
Of that fate, nasty, rotten and goddamn,
To be head of the dead rank and file...
But the white plaster surface was beaming
With cold light, and the tombstone boredom
Radiated from my toothless smile.

When alive, I would never be either
Tricked or cheated,
Nobody would measure me with a
Standard meter.

But when casting a mask, all the sizes
Were then taken,
I was measured with calipers by the
Undertaker.

Then a monument (smack in a year!)
With great pomp they would open there
As if proving - I’d fit their bills!
Endless crowds would gather to hear
How my popular songs filled the air,
Being played from the magnetized reels.

Mighty lights changed that night into morning,
Speakers blew up that orderly silence
With my tunes that the country had learned.
But my voice, gruff and husky, and roaring,
By the latest achievements of science
Into pleasant falsetto was turned.

I could not say a word, wrapped in shrouds
Can’t be speaking!
Yet from tapes these castrating wild shouts
I was shrieking!

They pulled down the shrouds - I’m diminished
Trimmed and quiet...
Would you need me like this at the finish
Of my riot?

The Black Friar’s footsteps I remembered
And I thought: “Will I give them some trouble
Just by walking a little around?”
Folks dispersed as my spine I unbent and
As I pulled out my legs from that marble,
And the rubble would crumble aground.

Leaning forward, I’m awful, I’m naked;
Scraggy legs cannot hold me - I’ve fallen,
But I still will continue to strive!
With stiff muscles I’ve managed to make it!
And with lips which are bleeding and swollen
I have wheezed out: “You see, I’m alive!”