Yulia's Cat



Yulia’s Cat 


The cabin crew lady said that 

We’re approaching Brussels so 

Put on your seat belt, put the  

Trays up, pull the window blinds 

Up, do this but don’t do that and 

Something about in case of an 

Emergency landing that I didn’t 

Hear but hope I don’t regret 


It’s gray almost dark looking out 

The window and over the dipping 

Wing though across the aisle 

The fading burning orange sun 

Is looking quite content among 

The comfortable clouds 


Yulia’s cat was walking through 

The weeds growing out of the  

Cracked pavement and along the 

Crumbling wall outside the sad 

Soviet community center where 

Communists once arrived to be  

Entertained as their gods, both 

Lenin and Stalin looked down, 

Statue-like, on their pale 

Complexions in their eastern bloc 

Fashion of the times 


Luna ignored the passing dogs 

And they too took little interest 

In her shiny white fur, 

this cat who came from across 

The Belarus border where they 

Don’t debate whether they should 

Pull all the Soviet statues down 

And put them in an obscure park 

Instead of leaving them littering 

The country’s squares and  

Street corners bringing back 

Memories many wish to forget 

Yulia said that her country depends 

On Russia to prop up their  

wretched economy so statues 

are a small price to pay 


Luna walks in the long shadow 

Of the Soviet monster 

Oblivious to Lithuania’s history 

or all those Jews buried beneath 


Belgium is dark now and the landing 

Gear comes down with a long deep 

Groan as I think about the Soviets 

And Yulia’s cat



Michael Adubato


Michael Adubato was born and raised in New Jersey but moved across the ocean and settled in Belgium, mainly because the beer and soccer are better. When he’s not at a stadium watching a game, he’s thinking about where to go for the next game. He also writes about those games for the website Yanks Abroad when the poems aren’t flowing.   He has previously been published in Ariel Chart in Spring 2020 and has also appeared in The Piker Press and The Dope Fiend Daily. 


  1. any poem that mentions cats and pisses on the soviets is completely in my wheelhouse.

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