An Ode to Moskva: Felled by Neptune or by Ghosts?
O Moskva, my Moskva, thy bow is fully plucked — you demanded they surrender, they told you go get fu — …
O Moskva, my Moskva, your fearful trip is done
O ship that wrecked so many lives
Thy bow is fully plucked
You demanded they surrender,
They told you go get fucked.
So did your sailors proceed to fuck themselves?
Or were you by Neptune struck?
Either way, when seas rise up to sink you
Go home, get out, give up.
May you all cease this dying
For Vlad the Impaler’s ploys
Go home, where little girls and boys
Ask for you. Go home, they’re crying,
Asking for you to come home.
It is undignified to express snark at the sinking of a warship in a warzone. I do not cheer when Russian soldiers die. I want the dying to stop, as quickly as possible.
That said, we don’t know precisely what happened to the Moskva just yet.
The Ukrainians claim they blew up Moskva using Neptune missiles. The Russians claim that it was destroyed as a result of an accidental ammunition explosion. The latter possibility means the Russians blew up their own flagship. Is it possible they did so out of guilt for destroying the soldiers who defied them at Zmiinyi Island (Snake Island)? Were they haunted by the ghosts of families they slaughtered, who conspired to drive the sailors to make such a catastrophic error?
But I should not cheer, or even nod, when people die in war. Uncouth. Uncivilized.
In terms of literary inspiration, other than the first line (invoking Whitman’s “O Captain! My Captain!”), this is pretty much original. Whitman was an honest humanist. I strive to be, but fall short. The second portion of my poem feels inauthentic: I imagine Russian children calling for their parents to return from war, but I do not feel those voices myself. I know I should look for them. I know I should not cheer and be snarky when a ship sinks in a war zone. I should not smile grimly at the poetic irony.
But today, I just can’t help myself.
