a crack in the revolution


I imagine revolutions
start in coffee houses
like this one

Down a side street
in Pamplona, below ground
in a place that smells like history

No tourists or would be
writers here only
a merry band of brothers

Who vow to right
the social wrongs of society
through force of arms

A revolutionary makes
revolutions his highest
order of duty

Their fight is for the people
to redeem themselves against
the tyranny of evil men

Who are drunk with the
lust for power and control
and build them Selves up
on the backs of humble men

The guerrilla fighter travels
light for social reform

While I sit and stare
at the ass crack of the girl
who just sat down in front of me

Obscuring my view of the
revolution with a full on assault
against my modesty

And now

Between sips of coffee and
revolution my eyes fall prey
to the horror of her ass crack
creeping out of her blue jeans

And I wonder

Will this be the ass crack
that launched a thousand poets
to burn the topless towers of the oppressor?

The revolution awaits
I hear my call to arms
but first girl put a belt on
save the repressed!

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