My Detention By The Russian Border Guards, In Verse, With Ryhme Patterns That Change Abruptly And Without Warning

The fault is mine, let me say from the start,
Or at least ninety percent my fault.
I should have asked if a visa was needed
To travel through Russia, if only in part.

Having crossed into Russia, we came to a halt,
And I didn't doubt, not even a whit,
That I would pass through the checkpoint unnoticed, unheeded,
Through this snow-dusting town (which was named after salt).

For I had passed this same way, not six days before,
And at two in the morning, when the border guards boarded
The train with their dogs and their flunkies in tow,
They asked naught but my passport,
And with barely a glance toward it,
They let me and my cabinmates go.

No visa!

But I had changed my plans in Ural, you see,
Because my friends all arrived a bit later than me,
And I wanted to study concurrently,
To facilitate our learning.

And so I exchanged my original ticket, you see,
At a local travel agency,
We spoke naught but Kazakh, and for four thousand three,
I had a new, later, train for returning.

No questions!

But the first train travelled through Aktob-ee,
And was so named accordingly,
But the second came from the fair city
Of Kiev, and went up until old Astan-ee.

The only difference between them, you see,
As regards the visa situation for me,
Was the former did not stop among Russkies,
And the latter did. Tak nuzhnie - vizy.

(Let me add
When I boarded the train
I asked, to est' suradym,
The zhurgizushi -
Conductor that is -
I am an American -
Amerikandyk that is -
And we go arkhyly Rossiya -
Through Russia, I mean -
Will there be masileye? -
I mean problemi? -
Apai? That is to say, ma'am?
Mozhet byit'? I mean to say -
Mumkyn bolar?
- Zhokh! That is no!
You are our guest!
Uspokoites'!
Masile bolmaitin...
...shyghar...)

The border guard entered,
And his very first sentence,
Was "Amerikanets vash gde?"
And I gave him my passport,
Or what I though would pass for't,
And he snorted, "Vasha viza - gde?"

I tried all my expressions
From pathetic to indignant
From red to pallid went my pigment
And yet not a bit was gained.
Throughout all the lengthy session,
The Russian guards simply repeated,
(Sometimes placid, sometimes heated)
"You must disembark the train."

My fellow passengers were sympathetic
(Perhaps I just sound more pathetic
In Kazakh than I do in Russian.)
"He speaks Kazakh!" whispered Kazakh Atas,
"He's a teacher!" confirmed the Russian Babas,
"Why don't the Russians trust him?"

Soon,
From inside their post
I heard the click-clack
Of my train
Heading of to land of the Russians
And with it my hopes
Of making it back
In time
For the upcoming Monday's four lessons.

We'll send you right back
To Ural, said the captain
Sometime tonight.
Since the Aktobe line runs every two days,
You'll expect to get back
To Astana, it so happens,
Wednesday night.

The Peace Corps might help,
I thought to myself,
Can I call?
I asked the pot-bellied captain.
"You don't have a cel?
"An AMERICAN? Aw, hell,
"You'll have to use the tax-o-phone then."

A cursing, rugged, bald-chinned boy-man
Obligingly took me to the pay phone.
All the way, in bar-room Russian,
He ridiculed my Kazakh home.

"Kazakhstan? Why the f--- in Kazakhstan?
You speak Kazakh? More like ---- -a-stan.
It's a made-up language for a made-up nation,
For prostitutes and m-------tion,
Barnyard dialects and retardation...
Say, why don't you come work in Russia?"

I made my call,
And walking back to the station,
We futher discussed why the ---- I was there,
By which I mean to say detained,
And not my the train somewhere.
And all in all,
He explained my situation,
I came to understand the schedules and fares,
Of the Aktob-ee and Kiev trains,
And from here which trains went where.

"You passed through!"
He said to me.
"When you came - it's true -
"From Aktob-ee."
"So a train leaves here
"For there?" I asked.
"Yes, and I fear,
"You poor dumb----,
"It's THAT train you needed."
"Well, rather than send
"Me to Uralsk," I pleaded,
"--because in the end,
"As long as I go back
"To Kazakhstan
"To which exact
"City I plan
"To go doesn't matter --
"Send me to Aktobe,
"For me, that way's better,
"Is there one that leaves tonight?"

The boy-man thought, and squeezed his chin.
He patted his hat and sucked his gut in.
"I don't see why not," he said with a grin,
"Here is the station. Come on, let's go in."

The Aktobe line
Passed through that same night
At eleven pm. I was saved.
At that very time,
I could set my trip right --
There were only eight hours to wait.

I passed those eight hours
Watching TV in Russian:
Miami CSI,
And The Guiness Records Show.
Other than that
I was treated very well.

And when I boarded the train,
We all shook hands,
Even though I was working
In Kazakhstan.