Homage To Our Russian Washing Machine
We have mastered our Russian washing machine,
worked its controls to wash and rinse,
now we feel at home in our new apartment,
fresh as a cup of hot green quince.
Like the old Soviet time trucks and cars
that beep and zoom down the Yerevan roads,
it has a character of its own,
and we’re happy now we’ve programmed it
to do our washing loads.
Somehow it manages to continue,
it seems it will go on,
not just our Russian washing machine,
but everything that could be gone.
In that I find a comfort,
in that I find a hope,
maybe we will climb the mountain,
if someone lets down the rope.