do I still want that?

This poem, Revolutionary Letter #19, for the Poor People's Campaign, was copied out by my brother many years ago. We probably found it in a magazine we subscribed to back then. Somewhere along the line it got transferred from his files to mine.

I was sure that this copied-out version was somewhere in my files, but I couldn't find it. It took remodeling our house in order for me to do so. Over the years I'd succeeded in finding a couple of copies of the poem on the web, though not the complete version (if what I have is the complete one).


But of course finding this while adding a second floor to our home - a second bath, a room for each kid - brings me face to face with a rejection of just that over thirty years ago. I've not only found the poem - I've found myself a generation ago. Is what I now want "a small piece of suburbia, laid down by the square foot"? Well, strange as it might seem, and even without being embarrassed about it, to a certain extent, yes I do. As my father never tired of saying, there's nothing too good for the working class.