MEMOIRS OF DAMNISO LOPEZ, NO. 14

I squat under this bridge in Tampa, reading your letter.
I have read about you, Jorge, how your forces won the revolution
That I deserted, how you became as corrupt
As the dictator and my father you deposed.

Your boastful and sneering letter came on a rare day
When it was freezing in tropical Florida. I had spent the day
Rumbling in garbage, trying to find something
I could wrap myself in to keep warm.

Jorge, you described how graves were being opened,
Not really graves, like those the rich have with marble monuments,
But paltry mounds of dirt tossed over the dead who died for the revolution.
These mounds had been flattened by rain to become blank spaces.

The recovered bones were piled in the back of a pick up truck,
Carried to the new city museum to celebrate the victory. .
You sneered, saying that the rib case shattered by stomping
Must have been my best friend, Luis.

You said it was too bad the bones of the heroes could not be identified,
But you were certain none of the bones were mine.
Now, Jorge, you invite me back to be in your government.
You say you need my mind.

No, Jorge, I'll never be fooled again.
All revolutions only end in new oppressors
Such as you. I don't want your offered luxuries.
I'll stay under this bridge, watch roaches become beautiful in moonlight.