Nostalgia for what never was

My mother hated Stalin
�but loved Trotsky. She had
�no party affiliation, no friends
�with whom to talk politics.

�

There was only me to listen.
�Maybe it was because Trotsky
�was Jewish. I don’t know.
�Maybe her father the leftie

�

organizer murdered by
�Pinkertons liked Trotsky.
�All gone into the fog of un-
�knowing. Yet to this day

�

I can sing the International.
�I have nostalgia for old left
�songs. I can remember when
�revolution seemed possible,

�

before Reagan taught working
�people to hate the poor; before
�Clinton gave the party to Wall
�Street, before the right got power

�

and gerrymandered, suppressed
�people of color to keep control.
�In this time, socialist is an insult,
�and official murderers thrive.

�

�