Touch Malenka’s water-well,
he’ll chop your middle-fingers off.
Touch Malenka’s shade-tree,
he’ll incinerate your skin.
Touch Malenka’s women,
he’ll kill genocidal-virgins by the score.
Touch Malenka’s savings-account,
he’ll vote straight-Democrat.
Touch Malenka’s race-horses,
he’ll purchase S. Korean-models.
Touch Malenka’s gods,
he’ll leave you alone to pray.
Touch Malenka’s firewood,
he’ll incinerate many a tyrant.
Touch Malenka’s illusions,
he’ll make you make you poet laureate.
Touch Malenka’s histology?
Go ahead, go right ahead, Mr. Grover Norquist,
Malenka does not grudge touching things like that.
‘Thar is Malenka – can everyone see him?
Malenka with his hatchet, chop, chop, chop,
a custom-cut here, a bombardment there,
Belgrade in flames, Tripoli catastrophe.
What is that I heard in Fukushima -breeze?
Yes master, yes master…
The 3-Stooges did say Hitler wanted peace,
a piece of this country, a piece of that country.
“hardy, har, har,” responded Malenka.
Ugly as Hugo’s Quasimoto, and despite limps & stutters
during Black Forest summits and press-conferences,
highly-clairvoyant, neighbors thought he shined,
“some people Shine some people don’t.” ((This gentle-line was spoken by a good man intent on rescuing a young mother and child, trapped inside incredible horror, Stephen King’s The Shining, REDRUM, Overlook Hotel.))
Apathetic hunter, Malenka does whatever he wants,
sleeps ’til Noon, accountants cook breakfast,
he no longer resides in forest deep, packs automatic-heat,
Malenka can eliminate America’s trade deficit,
get Greece out of the E.U. Muddle,
turn tsunamis toward Cuba, Yemen too,
Malenka will hit you bad, for “own good,”
sayonara Mister Chips, please sit-down? gutenachten,
Will you try one of our new Prozac-line, peppermint-flavor?
and just one touch upon Malenka’s wooly garment-hem,
civilizzzz-bzzzation shall never be the same.