Americans at Lenin’s Tomb 

Shrouded with dark gray reverence, 

Lenin’s private mausoleum

Looms on Red Square.

To approach his tomb-throne,

We descended and ascended

Grayish-black marble stairs.

Cold stone cradles

Lenin’s waxed form sealed

Air-tight.

(His own flesh consumed by now.)

He lies in state

A living statement dead.

Resurrected

In wax

For the people, to the people,

Not of the people. 

We accidentally laughed

Descending the slabs of gray marble,

Not disrespectfully, but

Engaged in other conversation.

A stalwart soldier hushed us with stern face.

One by one

We filed by Lenin’s figure

Gawking

With hundreds of onlookers,

But our shoulders

Shuddered

An eerie flash of horror.

Lenin’s Plexiglas-covered casket

Reflected our own faces

As we walked by.

And the stoic soldier was right;

It really wasn’t funny.

It was dead serious.