POEM: HERE COMES A COMMIE

by Leo Yankevich

                                        He’s Che Guevara
                    underneath his red beret.
                                        He’s Leon Trotsky
                    with his belly full of bagels,

                                        this man, this very
                    sensitive man, so finely bred
                                        on Marx and Marcuse,
                    who sits over cups of steaming

                                        cappuccino,
                    butt-hole tight from doing kegels,
                                        mouth sore from nights
                    spent moaning, from days spent dreaming

                                        of equality
                    for every woman, black, and gay,
                                        and all the ghetto
                    commissars inside his head.