Yesterday I finished forging,
two day norms were cast and tinned,
and my plant, without a warning,
sent me packing overseas.

Washed off soot of the production,
ate my lunch of jellied cod -
ready for my first instructions:
what’s permitted and what’s not.

Their conditions could be better,
overall.
I’m afraid my trip, however,
could go wrong.

So a pamphlet quickly given
to review,
to make sure I won’t start living
like we do.

Like a brother he starts talking
on deceptive, cunning West,
on democracy in Poland,
in the town of Budapest:

"Foreign manners look untoward,
you won’t understand at once.
Try to be respectful, comrade,
give their practices a chance.

If there are debates with liquor,
disagree:
no, my democratic drinkers,
only tea!

Turn away from all their presents,
unimpressed.
Tell them that we have this nonsense,
in excess.

He advised: "You should be frugal,
live in comfort but act wise.
Do not starve to save a ruble,
we don’t need your swift demise!

With the Czechs it’s getting tricker,
in the town of Budapest.
They might offer you a dinner,
or perhaps they don’t want guests.

Oh, in Hungary I’ll visit
the bazaars,
where Romanian German misses
cast their charms.

(Buddies told me that the ladies
in dem states
do not charge a single penny
Soviet friends)

"But the bourgeois states’ contagion
follows us to prey upon.
Stay away from complications,
extramarital liaisons!

Spy-girls’ bodies scream of fitness;
you reject them, they come back.
You should tell: at home this business
long abolished, for a fact.

Sometimes it’s not so apparent:
she intrudes,
sneaking in your train compartment,
like a dude.

In her bra she keeps, however,
amatol.
You must check your neighbor’s gender,
first of all."

"I’m afraid to make a blunder,"
I begin to question him.
"If you try to check what’s under,
You’ll get clouted on a whim..."

But this guy’s a real sharpie,
Knows his craft, he won’t be stressed!
So again we start malarkey
on deceptive, cunning West.

Listen here, I’ll be repeating,
for your best:
To Bulgaria I’m leaving -
Budapest.

"All political discussions -
Must evade.
Give them facts, don’t flex your muscles
To persuade."

I don’t know their alien grammar,
not a single foreign word,
But if you give me a hammer -
anyone will fit our mold!

For I’m not an agitator,
I’m a blacksmith by my trade!
To those Poles in Ulan Bator
I won’t go at any rate!

Laying with my wife, I prattle:
"Dusya, please!
Maybe I don’t have to travel
overseas?

I won’t mix well with their medley,
I’ll run off.
I can’t speak their eerie language,
not a word!"

Dusya’s dozing like a baby,
with her plastic curlers on.
Still asleep, she turns to tell me:
"Listen, Kolya, and be gone.

Got no courage, whatsoever...
I’ll divorce you, you will see!
Twenty years we live together,
And you’re always: "Dusya, please..."

You have promised me, remember -
that you’ll bring
from those Banglapesti venders
an oilskin.

Try to save a dozen rupees
for a gift.
Anything, Old Nick in booties,
if it’s thrift.

Falling into sleep I hug her,
My beloved, tender soul.
In my dreams I forged my armor,
Followed by the shield and sword.

They are using other standards -
stay alert, they’ll eat alive!
So I dreamed of Magyar ladies:
bearded faces, guns and knives...

Then I dreamed about the jacket
colored beige,
of the spy-girls that inhabit
Bangladesh.

I will live with the Romanians,
for a chance.
Heard, there’re from the Volga flatlands,
just like us.

And my wife, she’s such a sweetie:
when she sees me off, she cries.
All my shirts are ironed neatly,
very pleasing to the eyes.

See you later, blacksmith’s quarters,
where I know every pin!
See you later, party’s orders,
that were overdone by me!

We were drinking - spirits passed in-
to my brain.
I had hiccups on the bus ride
to my plane.

As I’m boarding, from behind me
comes a cry:
"Why you left us so untimely,
Nikoláy?"