After five whole days

of a catchy theme from an early
piano concerto by Mozart, my ear-worm
changed this morning to a few bars
from Dvořák's 12th string quartet.

In days of yore, adolescents like me
would write to East European embassies
to ask for the freebies they lavishly bestowed.
From the Romanian embassy I was sent an LP
of music which they insisted was not
Romanian Gypsy Music which I had asked for,
because music was either Romanian or Gypsy, not both.

Accompanying the Supraphon LP
from the Czechoslovak embassy in London
was an irritated cold-war note to say
that they objected to the tag American
on Dvořák's loveliest quartet,
which he composed in the USA.