Communal

Communal apartment, in an old house, number five.
Bathtubs, bows, bicycles hang along the green walls.
It always smells of kerosene, from burning stoves.
How many were on the apron, childrens noses wiped.
Communal apartment, and in it a kitchen, the navel of the earth.
Someones fate was decided here, they cooked and baked here.
They discussed the achievements and miscalculations of all authorities.
Here you could find out for the evening, a lot of different news.
Oleg Boyarkin