Woman Hits by Andrey Voznesensky Poem, by Ksey

In whose restaurant, in whose country - I can't remember,

but at midnight to a hair,

there are six men, there is a table, there is New Year,

and the angry woman - hits there!

Perhaps the company, where glances stick like bath

leaves, did not suit her?

It no means for what; they deserve it -

she went over their faces, like they’are rinsed laundry.

Hit, woman! Hit, my dear! Hit, vengeful! rather,

Slap mayonnaise on the bald man in suspenders.

Hit, woman!

Comments +

sorenbarrett July 15th, 2025 12:47
A most interesting poem that I took seriously to begin with. It evolved into a bit more bizarre with slapping mayonnaise on a bald man.

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Woman Hits by Andrey Voznesensky