Hero of the week. Returnees

The poet's suspiciousness is terrible:
I was afraid, gentlemen,
What a miracle this monument is
We will never see
And that at the end of two thousand and three
This monument was removed
Not to change his clothes a little,
And to reflect the moment.
What about you, worker and collective farmer,
There won't be a damn thing anymore
And there will be only Wholesale and Retail,
Idiocy and Poverty;
What will they put on us for the sake of a symbol?
In return for the labor that is branded,
Someone unbearable
From our current times:
For example, the pimp is a whore
In an embrace with the priestess dirty love*,
And your masterpiece, Comrade Mukhina,
They will quietly send you to melt down.

Over the years I stopped doubting
That everything in Russia is like this:
Restoration took a while
First for a year, then for six,
And all the glamorous grandeur
Didn't get rid of sin:
Then the pedestal is not available,
Then the steel will be bad...
It seemed – what do I care about iron? But
Life became more and more sad:
It’s not the collective farmer who’s been cut
Forty dumped pieces,
After all, not a factory worker
They took me away, out of sight,
And everything that was decent here
From what surrounded me.
In short, I apologize
All these years exactly
I didn't believe in your return
And you returned. I'm so glad!

The poet's enthusiasm is funny,
But today I began to believe,
What will you return after this
Not only, damn it, on the pedestal,
And this world is on the verge of destruction,
In which the axle tilted:
Since you left here,
There's a lot of crap going on here.
Return to this gloomy life,
Achieve your hard-earned rights...
And the rest - so I think -
Let them go for melting.
Dmitry Bykov.

*dirty love (English)