<\/p>\n

The Shamrocks<\/h4>\n

 <\/p>\n

Little green trinities\u2014at home between<\/p>\n

sky and sod, a canny family resemblance,<\/p>\n

a truly inside job\u2014a common life far beyond<\/p>\n

broad oceans of guilt and sad regret\u2014not these<\/p>\n

worthless plastic hats and opaque glasses,<\/p>\n

not these banners from forgotten holidays<\/p>\n

spent over Hell\u2019s Ditch and the moon\u2014not<\/p>\n

the smoking remnants of a blasted Friday<\/p>\n

from dark in 1972\u2014not me, not you, not at all<\/p>\n

this weight of black hilarity behind us\u2014only<\/p>\n

a lilt of dawn light over the rise, and a breeze<\/p>\n

that moves with or without purpose, and that<\/p>\n

sweeps the quiet field of the many and the one.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Che Guevara\u2019s Hands<\/strong><\/h4>\n

\u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n

Do you remember the day, late last<\/p>\n

century, when after awful labor they<\/p>\n

disturbed his dry, earthen bones<\/p>\n

and raised them from a hole beneath<\/p>\n

the dirt airstrip\u2014that dank conduit,<\/p>\n

that sad projection of rotten power,<\/p>\n

there at Vallegrande?\u00a0 <\/em>As it had been<\/p>\n

reported, the body had no hands.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

This was of course the missing piece,<\/p>\n

the key last confirmation of just<\/p>\n

where and how he who had done<\/p>\n

his dirty best to correct history<\/p>\n

had been questioned, slapped,<\/p>\n

questioned, kicked, questioned, shot,<\/p>\n

then tied to the skids of an army<\/p>\n

helicopter and spirited away over<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

the jungle in the middle of the day,<\/p>\n

seen off by scores of jeering soldiers.<\/p>\n

No official needed anything but<\/p>\n

his fingerprints for identification.<\/p>\n

But for the cameras, they leaned<\/p>\n

over his stiff, half-naked corpse,<\/p>\n

as cigarette smoke and laughter<\/p>\n

ringed its matted hair.\u00a0 The people<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

said dead Che looked like the Savior,<\/p>\n

and maybe some thought along<\/p>\n

such lines for years.\u00a0 But by then<\/p>\n

the formalities were over.\u00a0 The news<\/p>\n

walked away and it was done\u2014so<\/p>\n

businesslike and efficient\u2014the black<\/p>\n

latex bag zipped and clipped\u2014a date<\/p>\n

and a name, and then dropped deep<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

into a briefcase bound, we thought,<\/p>\n

for Washington.\u00a0 And that was the last<\/p>\n

we saw of them.\u00a0 All that we had left<\/p>\n

were the black and white recollections\u2014<\/p>\n

suave, grand gestures, a partial record<\/p>\n

on film and in photos, a strange flash<\/p>\n

in time when, from nowhere, nothing<\/p>\n

seemed to escape Che\u2019s grasping hands.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

In the night, sometimes for my crimes<\/p>\n

I feel his grip against my throat, and I<\/p>\n

back-pedal into the dark where I am<\/p>\n

also destined to be lost.\u00a0 Other nights,<\/p>\n

he brushes my shoulder, and with his<\/p>\n

right hand points out a flock of white<\/p>\n

birds as they rise into a star-decked sky,<\/p>\n

calm and free as any we believe to be.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Smoke and stars, green<\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 leaves and brown<\/p>\n

bones\u2014it\u2019s become<\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 difficult to separate<\/p>\n

the past from<\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0portents, torture rooms<\/p>\n

from open skies.\u00a0\u00a0<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

And the time grows large between us.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Ways of Men<\/h4>\n

 <\/p>\n

If this chicken won\u2019t at last convince you<\/p>\n

that today you require a ripe avocado,<\/p>\n

then there\u2019s nothing I can suggest but<\/p>\n

this dream blue Cadillac El Dorado<\/p>\n

that arrives the instant when we conjure<\/p>\n

then dismiss what we desire.\u00a0 And still<\/p>\n

this earthly view of paradise is something<\/p>\n

that requires space and frame\u2014an idea,<\/p>\n

then action, frantic notes made in a book.<\/p>\n

This makes us sweat and shovel, since\u00a0<\/p>\n

that is what we do with things.\u00a0 We laugh\u00a0\u00a0<\/p>\n

then listen, erase and write it over.\u00a0 Take<\/p>\n

this again, my brother, may it serve you well.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

  The Shamrocks   Little green trinities\u2014at home between sky and sod, a canny family resemblance, a truly inside job\u2014a common life far beyond broad oceans of guilt and sad regret\u2014not these worthless plastic hats and opaque glasses, not these banners from forgotten holidays spent over Hell\u2019s Ditch and the moon\u2014not the smoking remnants of […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[6],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-3943","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-poetry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/ducts.sundresspublications.com\/content\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3943","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/ducts.sundresspublications.com\/content\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/ducts.sundresspublications.com\/content\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/ducts.sundresspublications.com\/content\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/ducts.sundresspublications.com\/content\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=3943"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"http:\/\/ducts.sundresspublications.com\/content\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3943\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":3944,"href":"http:\/\/ducts.sundresspublications.com\/content\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3943\/revisions\/3944"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/ducts.sundresspublications.com\/content\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=3943"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/ducts.sundresspublications.com\/content\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=3943"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/ducts.sundresspublications.com\/content\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=3943"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}