I do not know that man, but he looks like an enemy of the people. Not the strangest of strange assertions I had ever heard uttered in these sessions, And normally I may not have even looked up To identify the speaker, But as the voice belonged to a woman, I chanced to raise eyes upward Just in time to see an arm fully extended, An accusing finger pointed at myself. Understand, I had seen more than one of my peers Dragged from these chambers Without regard for decorum or ceremony, And, in a state which was at least close kin to panic, I saw visions of myself whisked away to a fetid Butyrka cell Or thrown, bound and gagged, onto some Siberia-bound cattle car When I heard a voice something like my own spit out I do not know that woman, but she looks like a ******* to me. My accuser blanched and sat down To a chorus of catcalls and derisive whistling, And one or two deputies in possession Of sufficient power or powerful friends Actually waved handfuls of rubles in her direction. It may not have been grace under pressure, But there are situations where chivalry Is more indulgent than admirable.