“We are all equal” he said.
We nodded our collective head
For who can disagree
That all are equal? But what about free?

“Society is unfair” he said.
Once more, a nod of the collective head.
But who will give up his bed
For the tramp who carries his load
Along yonder road?

“Much of the map was once red
And the English have blood on their hands” he said.
So we dwelt on empire’s shame
And absolved today’s corrupt dictators of all blame,
For Mugabe is a saint
And it is quaint
To believe that the empire did any good
For, of course it produced only blood.

“Let us raise a toast
To the ghost
Of Marx” he said.
I shook my head
And headed for bed.