April 2

Speaking of Che

The things you said about Che Guavera
were wrong.

He was not a unicyclist or the head of Russian
infantry. He did not eat a live wolf or
throw the first pitch at the 1985 World Series.
He is not a coldsore. He is not on sale at
Wal-Mart. You cannot fit him inside a tuna melt.

I don’t know where you heard such things, what
blasphemous documentary or bullshit voice
in the clouds came to you
like Mother Mary comes to Mexicans,
but it is unacceptable to say such things.

I would rather you invent stories of me;
my eyes are quarters cut from the finest
metals. My hands are strong enough to rend
the horns of an ox.
The fat on my side does not
disgust you. My feet remind you of the way a
Grecian urn stands untouched on a pedestal
in the middle of ruins or my soul is
something you believe in even though
I don’t.

Learn that from your documentaries.
Teach that to your children
and come back when you’re not drunk
or crying or high
or plotting to kill your Uncle’s dog.

You are not a revolutionary.