I heard stories of you, Romania,
lying far in the east,
communism and beaches side by side.
I heard of the bullets
and families hiding under tables.
The women were beautiful, so I heard.
Turns out they’re nice to look at
but peel away the layers
and you’re left with a rotten core.

Romania, I would wipe you off the face of the earth
and plant cancer in your soil,
AIDS in your rivers
and watch every one of your people
die in exquisite agony.
They don’t really deserve the sun on the necks,
the wind in their hair,
friends to call family.
Romania, I would watch you bleed to death
in some dark alleyway as a thousand men
have their god-awful way with you,
I would watch you drown
and hold you under just to make sure.

I have a very large box of hatred
in my head set aside
specifically for you.
Dare me to
open it?