The dumb herd scowled:
“You’ve short-changed us,” they howled.
Pennies like medals stuck in the crust
Of sawdust.
The cashier flew into a rage—
“Nonsense! Be off with you! Go!”—
And rose like dough
From her glass cage.
Over counters where they sell
Cheese cakes and melons was blown
A sudden smell
Of tears and ozone.
Loud was the smell of tears
Among that lowing crowd:
The hands of one dumb pair
Howled in the air.
Clutching bacon, somebody swore,
Or so I imagined: at least, he
Gave a Beethovenish roar,
Earthy and shaggy.
Drumming of knuckle and palm
On the glass plate;
So bellowed the psalm
Of my dumb fate.
With a knowing leer
The cashier
Peered at a bill she held up to the light
To see if Lenin’s profile looked all right.
But Lenin wasn’t there any more:
The bill was counterfeit.
It was a grocery store
Where people and farces meet.
Andrei Voznesensky (1933 - 2010) Russia
Translated by W.H. Auden
Source: Poem of the Day blog
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