I hated Marx when
He described faith
As an opium, as if people
Who believe in religion,
Have opium in their head.
Like the girl on my right,
Who I think adores Mr. Bello
As if he were a saint,
And attends this class
As though one is in a mass.
(I spied on her earlier
In the library, her
Small hands were
Doing sketches of
The man, dressed
In Grecian tunic.)
This room is
A site of struggle –
I love my opium-girl,
She loves Mr. Bello,
And he, he’s just being
A prolific professor –
One can’t escape this
Marxist discourse so easily.
And I am willing to sell
My soul as a commodity,
If my opium-girl would
Just look at me.
But Mr. Bello having
Sensed my sweet alienation
Eyed me ferociously
As all my classmates did:
Power through coercion
And power through consent.