Ode to the Middle-Aged Russian Woman

By Sara Bookin-Weiner, with Laura Henry

Oh Babushka-to-be,
How I admire thee.
With your face so dead-pan,
No one makes me laugh like you can.

Sees the Americans in fright,
Makes kasha late at night.
Cries “who wants jet-lag kasha?”
And it’s every student in the casa.

She can prove that she’s hip,
Not just by the vodka she sips.
A hip hop clubbing gem,
But only at 6 p.m.

Knows the Russian winters are “brrr!”
And so she wears her fine fur.
Feels bad for animals killed and sold,
But worse for herself when she’s cold.

Hails gypsy cabs for commutin’
From Khrushchev to Putin.
But if it were up to me,
I’d become a Babushka-to-be.