The way Guevara attempted to put Latin America on fire of revolution
I try to shed some pounds,
Che counted every bullet before landing in Venezuela,
I count every damn calorie.
he fought his way out of the jungles,
I've battled third day in a row
my bloody war with creamy donuts.
Guevara ran surrounded
I'm encircled by blueberry cheesecakes.
it is everywhere,
at work, home, guests'
bad capitalist cheesecakes!
like Guevara was ambushed and captured,
I absolutely coincidentally entered a bakery,
bold revolutionary hollowed:
"you can't kill me!
I'm the very Che Guevara himself!"
and I screamed:
"you can't sell me this, this and that one!
I'm Galper!
I should fly after girls,
and not roll like a wheel".
too bad, execution squad's eyes are emotionless,
and tough honey cake and pitiless cream-Brule
are deaf to great romantic plans
and bee-bullets fly out of the bee-house of rifles,
and Che falls down in nameless pit of Eternal Life
and progressive humanity breaks down in tears,
and weak Galper falls into bed,
snoring, unable to move a finger,
and the Ideal of Womanhood departs cursing and untouched.

* * *

Being brought to America at the age of 19 left ALEX GALPER no choice. He had to keep on writing poetry in the only language that he knew (Russian) and hope that it would be recognized in his homeland. Seventeen years later, the English translations of his poems have published in over 30 magazines in USA and UK, whereas in Russia, he is considered too marginal, extreme, and "too-American" to publish. Go figure...