Poem For A Dead Ideologue…

Hindsight, that old master,
Helps me size you up and lecture
On your faults and on your sins
And everything you should have been.

I know every mistake:
The chances that you didn’t take;
The doomed hypotheses;
The errors and the fallacies.

Would I have known them then
Or would I have been taken in?
What am I swallowing
That future men could wallow in?

About bsixsmith

I am a writer of stories and poems - published by Every Day Fiction, The London Journal of Fiction, 365 Tomorrows and Det Poetiske Bureau - and a columnist for Quillette, Areo and Bombs & Dollars.
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