La Cuba Libre

When the poetry of despotic
Collectivism dissipates in angered
Students,
Armed thru' the decision
Of Empire, then a
Vestige of absolutism
Clings feverishly
To the demise of
Old Orders.

We have words
For it now and we do not
Use them.

The blurring
Loveliness of a divulged sun,
Alighting Havana. How poets
Have dreamt of South and Islands
But not to dream the words
We once did not
Have.

Backwards---except in the
Extreme Case-of-Things, and
Every flash of not-quite-
Acceptance equates to a
Multiplied dawn. Once there
Was Fear. Now, only
Ridicule and in the
Malarial-tinted feverish
Wars of conquest
Something was forged.

O Cuba!
Now that Stalin
And Khrushchev have
Surrendered themselves to the odium
Of Past and in
Every derogatory sense the
Civilized anger sneers down at
The
East.

Your island, back to
A broken wall, the graffiti and
Cut stones drawing
American
Blood.

Viva la Cuba libre!

But to what
Extent?

The heaviness of remaining dawns,
The bravery of tyranny. The age
Of Broad-brushed conquest is long
Passed.