Ironic poem by Svetlana Kravtsova
Let's gather at the outskirts of the village!
Let's poke fun of the real Russian amusement!
Let's have a shot of vodka to get courageous,
Let's show bravado to the neighbor villagers...
Everyone has sit around, an accordion sounds.
Boys start first by slugging each other;
Smacking in the face turns their snots red -
The men celebrate, the girls get ecstatic.
As the accordion sounds louder, men stand up
And it comes to real heavy blows;
Their wives get excited, the others make merry.
Finally, old men come out into the scramble.
Everyone is keen on brawling,
Women scream, girls yelp, dogs bark;
Only females remain spectators.
But now it's their turn to get into a fight.
Their cheeks turn red, devils appear in eyes.
One says, "Well, gals, let's go!"
And the girls start cheerfully romping
With the breasts colliding for real.
Then tough matrons get their fists ready
Even old women join the hassle.
The accordion explode by the passion,
The accordionist only remains out of the fight.
Guys act skillfully with their fists:
Aiming at the jaw, at the belly,
At the crotch, at the solar plexus.
Women thrash each other like bags.
All the fighters are in their element,
The accordion goes to pieces;
Noses are broken, clothing is torn;
The air is thick of strong cursing.
No opponent is found for the accordionist,
Just a robust girl challenges him,
She happens to be fierce like a man,
So, his head is flying like a turnip.
Well, this whipping boy relaxes on the ground
While the tomboy is busy with someone else -
She persistently butts into the fight,
Brutally disfiguring someone else.
Sunset is coming, the mud is knee-deep;
But nobody wants to leave the venue.
Just at dusk the battle dies down
And beaten ones are motionless.
Teeth, hats and people lie around.
Nobody grieves about anyone...
Some nations are fond of paying a ball
But Russians love building the "wall-on-wall"!
Free translation from Russian
Exclusive of the Female Single Combat Club