Fidel

Where have you gone, Fidel?
Did you take Che with you?
Did you flee to Valhalla
to sleep for ever with
Washington, Bolivar, and Minh?

Raoul rides your coattails
and Gandhi is dead.
Where have you gone, Fidel?

Robespierre's cafes are empty;
there is plenty of space.

So please Fidel, have a drink
with me: the hour is late
and it is cold outside.

Lenin and Lee watch from heaven
as you forget yourself
and rebels fight unaided.

Anonymous screams his million lungs out,
futilely seeking a peace he does not want
while his Iranian, Egyptian, Libyan brothers
languish among the hashtags,
billyclubs, and bullets.

Where are you, Fidel?
I waited for you, while
Mubarakadinijadaffi's thugs
kicked my teeth in,
gassed me,
killed me,
     for having a cell phone
     for being a modern woman
     for having an eduction
     for believing in my rights,
     for standing up to tyranny.

I waited for you, Fidel,
but you never came
wading out of the Red Sea into Sinai,
or out of the Jajrood into Tehran,
or out of the Mediterranean into Tripoli;
but there were no Times reporters,
no CNMBBCOX cameras,
so I don't blame you for hiding.

I guess I shouldn't have expected
you to show up for
the Twitter Rebellions, to fight for
Face Time with Anonymous.
It makes sense, because
after all:
the revolution will not be televised.