Revisiting From the Sidelines of a Coup—Murfin Verse

                                        Chicago Seed cover--imagining ourselves as revolutionaries.  

Note—The anniversary of the Siege of the Capital was just a few days ago and now the main villain of that treachery if about to reclaim the Presidency with Congress and the Supreme Court in his pocket.  Last night at Poets in Resistance Tree of Life UU Congregation in McHenry to shout our defiance into the gale.  I could have read this, which I wrote just after the insurrection, but I did not.

From the Sidelines of a Coup  

 January 7, 2020

Time was long ago that I imagined myself sometimes

on the barricades of some great General Strike

turning the world upside down

gleefully building that new society

on the ashes of the old.

It was easy then to be a romantic revolutionary

to image portrayal on some heroic poster

splashed in red and black.

Yet in fact I only marched, chanted

and dodged the occasional baton

or teargas cloud,  

I came and went unarmed,

After Fred Hampton was perforated on his bed

and students bled at Kent Stat

my peeps on the Chicago Seed

put a mop-head freak raising 

an AK-47 over his head 

in psychedelic color on the front page.

But no one I knew went out to buy one

or to drill in their Dad’s old GI gear

in the woods.

Time went on and I never abandoned dreams

of a fairer world

but put aside any fantasy

that it could be won by force of arms.

Decades later that still holds true

although I have made many 

compromises and accommodations.

Some might say I have gone soft, weak kneed,

or just plain sold out.  

Maybe yes, maybe no.

Now I watch other revolutionaries,

White, not Red,

storm the Capitol and make war

on Democracy itself.

Like those old Catalonian anarchists 

I find myself to my astonishment

called to defend a Republic.

I want to do my part.

But age, a treacherous heart, 

a pandemic, winter,

and an accident of geography

that has me far from the likely battle grounds

have left me on the sidelines

of maybe the greatest struggle

of my lifetime.

All I seem to be able to do

is spill some electronic ink

that will be seen, at most,

by a couple of hundred people.

And it hardly seems enough.

—Patrick Murfin

The Old Man in June 2020, seven months before the Insurrection.  I could turn out to carry a sign at Black Lives Matter protests and marches in McHenry County but sometimes couldn't keep up and was often gasping for breath after a few short blocks.  Today I can do less.  I'll still go out when I can but am not much use on the streets anymore.