The story is told that six months old
a baby had died in a flash.
His parents too without a cue
had lost their lives in that crash.
Nobody spoke of the ashes and smoke -
They just stared at the debris.
The tragedy passed away much too fast
back in nineteen thirty-three.

But as the sun rises, it´s full of surprises
one morning in fifty-six.
Out of the sand comes a wealthy young man
with a smile and a bag full of tricks.
After all these years of forgotten tears,
the baby» returns from the dead.
The original died for this new guy to hide
he´s a Russian plant instead.

As the story goes and all evidence shows,
this tycoon rose quickly to power.
He was right in the heat of the Western elite
while serving the Kremlin Tower.
In the CIA and the NSA
he worked for the KGB.
He was also a spy in the FBI
as a Soviet s.o.b.

He exploited disguises and planted advisors,
and strategies he deployed.
He gave secret commands throughout the lands
that Moscow wanted destroyed.
As a shrewd little prince he contrived to convince
top ranking goons to comply.
His dim-witted clerks and their hard-hitting jerks
all served this brilliant spy.

He knew how to suggest it was right for the West
to eliminate challenging leaders.
And we all know the rest: How the good and the best
fell for the mob and their "heaters".
From careful instructions and minute deductions
he planned his final scam:
To throw the elite right off their feet
and make a fool of Uncle Sam!

So by planting a clue when proper and due,
he made one commander suspicious;
And right on the clock, and as sure as a rock,
his reaction was less than judicious.
In search of proofs underneath the roofs
of carefully guarded locations,
The leak was a trap, and he fell for the rap
and ruined public relations.

Everyone saw that he´d broken the law,
but nobody could explain why.
That knowledge rests with the Kremlin´s best
and their thorough, competent spy.
With the fall of Saigon his mission had won -
It took almost twenty years.
Where he has been since that last scene
is unknown to public ears.

He was said to be home like a honeycomb
sipping toasts with the late Kosygin,
exchanging notes and anecdotes
about Ford and Ronald Reagan.
But as this tale may stand or fail
on its merit of truth alone,
In a decade from now, I can clearly see how
you´ll get busted for reading this poem.

- Tarjei Straume, Phoenix 1980

Poetry Index

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