Treating My Infantile Disorder

I admit that
Life isn’t always clear to me.
Interconnected relationships between
People, commodities, machines,
Fantasies of simply
Breaking out,
Rising above it all
Fill my alienated mind
Some days.
Childish fantasies of
Tuning out and dropping out,
Infantile dreams of
Riding an old Norton
to freedom,
Petty thoughts of
Picking up a rifle and
Simply shooting
Away my problems.

Reality,
I know,
Is far more complex.
David Cameron is not
Fulgencio Batista.
Our workplaces are not
Siglo XX.
No one is about to storm
Sandhurst.

I am not la Guerillero Heroico.
I am not bravely facing monsoon rains,
Bullets,
Illness,
Death
In the hills of the Sierra Maestra.

I am,
However,
Willing to.
I have faced
Freezing nights blockading
Imperialist embassies,
Lines of riot police,
Columns of fascists,
Strike-breaking bosses,
Concrete cells,
Blacklists,
Hatred,
Rage.

I faced these things
Smiling.
Inspired by example,
I strove to be like
El Fuser,
With Fidel’s immortal words
Ringing in my ears –
History will absolve us.

che tremble

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2 thoughts on “Treating My Infantile Disorder

  1. This is a really first-class poem. Poignant, rueful yet strong. A bit in the vein of T.S Eliot’s Prufrock in tone.

    Like

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