National Envy

Rose thorns grown shallow in clumped dirt
bleeding hands full of pluck
greedy hands taking ten times what ours carry

at the national university
guerrilla graffiti adorns white slabs that only shelter
and Che gloats over us all

(when introduced, I say, I’m an imperialist yanqui – and where are you from?
oh, they say, disappointed, you’re not French.)

it’s dusk again
windows thrust open to greet the night blooms
sensual caballo blossoms open to pique the coming gloom
and national envy seeps in