Sandalistas

 

You posed yourselves (in radical English)
with fellow-travelers on the barricades.
recalling bygone barrio fusillades
though you speak only red diaper Spanish…
Beholding the party cooperative
where gringo tourists are shown Cuban truth,
you cherished the lies of your leftist youth,
half-informed, predictably progressive.
Stuffed full of radicalized rice and beans,
flatulent, dreaming of ignoble Che
you charmed the sultry proletarian queens.
In your new Guayabera, bonafide,
you hailed the revolutionary day;
pale thorn in the suffering People’s side…

 

FSLN
Sandalistas really exist !

There are still a few around . . .

 

¡ Viva el LIMERICK !

Un joven Marxista peludo
(mejor dicho: tirano barbudo)
adornó camisetas,
también pantaletas –
irónico chiste agudo.

Maldito malandro Guevara
alabado por voz y guitarra,
fue la gran obra-maestra
(pero no de la diestra)
y queda la pata con garra.

A Marxist Messiah named CHE
was mistaken (by night) for the Day.
Bringing light to the masses
(who wore their sunglasses)
the luminance faded away…

The image of CHE on a shirt
always triggers my right to assert
that the crime of the Left
is not property theft,
but Idolatry: blind and overt.

The communist rock-star Ernesto
never dreamed that his mug would be blessed so –
re-branded revision,
immune to derision.
Would history ever have guessed so?

The militant monogram CHE
was perceived as the herald of day-
from a murderous tyrant
to Christ-like aspirant:
reality withered away.