Barnaul #2

The bus is shaking, knocking its passengers around;

it stops- Vzlyotnaya, Svyetochnaya,

Pavlovskii Trakt,

and if you could see the original copy,

(I mean of this poem)

you could tell how distastrous it is,

writing a poem on a bus in Barnaul.

There are things you write about because someone has to write about them,

if I don't, people will forget Barnaul, or they,

heaven forbid,

might never learn what Barnaul is.

I'm moving soon; even I could forget Barnaul, I guess,

but what I'd like to remember is:

     1. The mess a bus makes of my handwriting.

     2. The fog on the windows in May (May 3rd).

     3. How the bus nearly tips over when it left-turns over the trolley tracks.

     4. Driving past the beginning of Spring in Siberia.