The Marxist coffee mug
hid itself in a packing crate,
deep in the excelsior.
Swinging from a dock crane
above ship and below blue summer sky,
the Marxist coffee cup left the bombs and arrests of its homeland
in favor of the welcoming warmth of Castro's Cuba.
Class struggle dissolves
when conga and brass trumpet combine
in the rising air of sultry evenings.
The parrot's wing is
red for passion,
yellow for unity
and green for plenty, by the hand of the noble proletariat.
Imagine the alarm of the Marxist coffee mug
when, a day after arriving and being thieved from a government-owned warehouse,
it found itself in the hand of a woman named Consuela
who smashed it over the head
of her unfaithful lover Miguel.
When you dream,
when you love,
and most of all when you take up a cause,
remember the Marxist coffee mug.
Realize how closely the bones inside your flesh
and the white around the sideways eyes
of your fellow traveler,
El Noble Loro de la Revolucion.
("The Noble Parrot of the Revolution")