riding the bus siting backwards,
not knowing what lies ahead
but seeing the past
another riminder of Che, not dead.
I read Granma the newspaper,
thinking of the yacht
crossing the Caribbean with Fidel
and the battle they fought.
to the Sierra Maestra
guerrilla warfare for two years,
to Havana to overthrow Batista
and rid the Cubans of their fears.
out the window again I see Che,
Hasta Siempre Comandante,
thats what they say.