Not sure about the title yet

[tectak]

It sucked that if I was born a day earlier
I'd get a detached house with a road outside
Made of concrete like a freshly baked cake and 
My mother happy because it's as good as free,
But despondent, as it’s not enough


Instead I got vodka, a brown brick block
Of a complex, more vodka, the American Dream
And marching men on a boxy, thick screen
And pellucid, thick skin
A fist and a bruise by my all-hearing ear


'Why are they marching?' I'd ask, my 6 year old
Eyes wandering back and forth
'Because they have nothing better to do,'
Said my grandma, with her back turned,
Not even having to look at the screen


What's the bloody point? I now think
As no one lives in Kremlin or rides tanks
-our neighbour still has a Moskwich 
And works through sweat like fog over his
Vodka-shot eyes, to the patriotic beat
Of a distant drum on a little screen


That's what I think now when I have that
Pretty detached house and I complain
As it's not as big as that planar curve
Of a playing field-why do I still see
Cast iron while I sleep?


Once it was normal to me-bullet holes
In hospital walls and sad eyes looking up
To the 6th floor while we drove past 
With our sun burned skin and a scratched suitcase.
93% mixed with water, a scalded throat:


My father flew gliders, jets, planes
Over a tundra where a day was 
Six months, like the hangover, and 
He still flew through the heat in his skull
Brown bread, moloko, Tsar bomba, a flight


To where they still march, their feet like
A beating heart of an oil field-
Only four thousand miles between us
Four hours, the blink of an eye
And a tongue lodged deep behind blue lips

Seriously, give it a title old chap....if you have no idea what it's about, what chance do the crits stand. It us in Serious, after all.
Best,
tectak