From above, the desk has a home <br />in a row of identical desks, <br />an old high school yearbook rests in the middle, <br />and a mechanical pencil. <br /> <br />We would be underneath, <br />kneeling for bombs <br />but ready for games, <br />eyes synchronized in little caves. <br /> <br />We've only the faintest scars <br />to show for our suffering, <br />and ghostly scenes reflected in old windows, <br />to smile in sorrow or ignore for new ballads. <br /> <br />The iconic beard and green hat, <br />like something from the attic, <br />like the Stones or a Kennedy, <br />or a warning of a cold front moving in.<br /><br />Michael Philips<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-lost-poems-of-fidel-castro/
