Where We Might Be

We might be in Paradise,

or Purgatory, waiting for change

like Smelly Pete on the pavement,

outside the Co-Op,

in your town and mine.

We might be in Birmingham,

in Alabama, waiting for change

like Rosa Parks on the crosstown bus

braving the policemen,

in her time and mine.
 

We might be in Staatsoperplatz,

a Berlin square, burning for change

like student boys in uniforms

cheering the bonfire

of all hearts and minds.

We might be in Majdenek,

a harvest festival of bitter fruit,

scythed down by Schmeissers,

buried interlinked

in pits, in lines.
 

We might be here,

we might be there,

we might be us,

we might be them...

we might be waiting for change,

forever.