Second Edit: For a Radical, Long Dead/For Dawn Fraser, a Radical

[Richard]

For Dawn Fraser, a Radical

My dear dead poet,
who championed workers
and cursed capitalism,
you would be more important
if you were an ancient red vase.

Then people would ponder your cracks,
debate the significance of your colour,
and label you an artifact,
but you chose the losing side.

So now, your verse is discarded:
removed from a dusty shelf by a librarian
ordered to make room,
his hands spite-less in their choice.
Then comes the box bottom of a garage sale,
only to end by being misplaced
next to a cookbook at a thrift store.

First Edit:
For a Radical, Long Dead

I
My dear dead poet,
you would be more important
if you were
an ancient red vase.

Then people would ponder your cracks,
debate the significance of your colour,
and label you an artifact.

II
You chose the losing side.
So now, your verse is discarded:
removed from a dusty shelf by a librarian
trying to make room,
his hands spite-less in their choice.
Then comes the bottom of a box at a garage sale,
followed by more indifference.
This ends by being misplaced
next to a cookbook at a thrift store.

III
You championed workers
and cursed capitalism
like it was a demon pricing souls.

You lost your war,
but still influenced me:
I can now see the invisible monster
that chased me from my home.


Original:
For a Radical, Long Dead

I
My dear dead poet,
you would be more important
if you were
an ancient red vase.

Then people would ponder your cracks,
debate the significance of your colour,
and label you an artifact.

II
You chose the losing side.
So now, on dusty shelves,
in boxes at garage sales,
next to cookbooks at thrift stores,
your verse sleeps.

A second death,
the worse way time can punish a person.

III
Oh capital,
he would think you the new devil,
pricing souls and convincing others
of your necessity.

Oh capital,
the victor of a war,
long lost.

Oh capital,
invisible monster
that chased me from my home.