The Socialist

 

Matthew Zapruder

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He doesn’t know

who told him

to climb mountains

and plant flags

right up against

the pure sky,

to make sure

the color matches

so people

down below

in their cities

though they cannot

see them know

we are all

for once together

saying to

something yes,

his sister says

why do you return

with nothing

in your pockets

but little stones,

he can’t explain

at the time

they seemed

the most precious

gifts he could bring,

he always forgets,

he doesn’t spend,

he drinks wind

and eats delicious

grass from

a white bowl

he found, some

animal died

and gave its meat

to the starving

valley people

who carved

this receptacle

and brought it

up here to be

used by those

who travel

up and down

this path surrounded

by huge boulders

balanced on nothing,

down below they

live in harmony

with the seasons,

sometimes it floods

but their houses

are high on stilts,

when he first saw

those precarious

structures raised

on wooden legs

above the fields

respectfully close

to each other

he thought

that’s how all

humans should live,

what beauty

is there left to see,

he loves his job

most because

he doesn’t get paid,

he refuses to take

secret gold

left on the summit

for the long

departed cloud people.

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