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 namedCHE
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.
The left doesn’t want a country. It wants a Berkeley food co-op. It wants a city with some ugly modernist architecture. It wants a campus with courses on media studies and gender in geography. It wants an arcade where unwashed lefties can tunelessly strum John Lennon songs on their vintage guitars. It wants cafes with Russian Futurist prints on the walls. It wants to be excited about political change.