My neighbor is a man who has traveled widely, In search of what, I cannot say; While I don’t like to meddle in other people’s business I can’t help feeling hurt, it bothers me, I am that way. His home is filled with plush and silk, His broad has loads of dresses, skirts, kimonos; I could dig up uranium right here in Moscow, If I could only get his salary and bonus.         The other day, their son, in our communal kitchen Banged his head while coming through the door And smashed, on purpose, I am sure, my bottle... I promptly presented his mother with a bill that’s triple. They are raking in rubles, while I am earning kopeks, So why not request damages, for their brat’s fun? Far be it from me to envy them... But I believe that justice should be done... Just wait and see I’ll give them comforts They’ll soon be moving out, as things get rough. They have money, not knowing what to spend it on While I go without vodka-just can’t afford the stuff...
© Misha Allen. Translation, 1971