When The Fascists Come

When The Fascists Come

If the fascists take over, will there still be flesh

That seizes up in awe on the arms of the sound

Of the boy channeling Chopin's piano?

When the fascists take aim, will the lovers on the beach

Singing from their deep and sturdy gaze

Hear the rifling in their own green voices?

As the fascists leap from their trucks (and they will have trucks)

Will they pause in heavy duty boots to listen

To the guitarist plucking the quietest cloud?

Mostly, in these times of fascism, I wonder

If people will clap along with the thunder, if troops

Will outshine the sax, if blooms will turn to fruit.

Will we still sing when we are deep and well alone

Leonard Cohen's Hallelujah? And will it seem to us, when the fascists come

Like cherries hanging on a chorus of song?