Ode to Socialism

Poem by Michael C. Marino

On being blamed for action or inaction, whichever makes one guilty: I have decided to make sure that, from now on, everything IS my fault. That way, I shall not feel so put upon when the verdict comes down.

Is the FBI out to get me?
What have I done that is
So bad?

Were my Resolutions not dogmatic enough?
Were my words not hollow, redundant,
And repetitive?

What? No! Not like the Nazis!

Sometimes I think I have the soul
Of a poet
Or a proletarian.

What goes through the mind of a prole
As he works
And his life is bled away to make nickels and dimes?

What? No! Not like the Soviet Union!

I weep for the
Working Class
And write Resolutions to save them

Some day, capitalism will be gone
Some day, oppression will be forgotten
Some day... some day...
What? NO!! NOT like Maoism!

It's not too late
It's never
Too late

We can reach the hearts and minds of
The People
If we can just get on TV.

A little man jumps up on the bus and shouts at me: "You stupid fuck! Why aren't you organizing workers in the fields, in the factories, in the office complexes, in the fast food companies, in the canneries, fisheries, and slaughterhouses? Who do you think the working class IS, anyway, dill-hole?"

And I say to myself:
Nothing will advance the cause of Socialism more than
A Poem
Or a Resolution.

(Did that guy just call me "dill-hole"?)

And it will happen
If only I write enough
And if only I get
On TV

What? No, not like Stalinism! Sheesh!