The USA and Israel killed him and his family on the first

Day of their war, Ayatollah Khomenei, who in repeated bursts

Of repression had killed thousands of his protesting citizens

Who did not share his ludicrous view that their offence

Was rejection of Allah and worthy of the death penalty.

Now, with the war declared a victory of both sides, melodies

Of patriotism call Iranians to their leader’s funeral. From

All over Iran, in buses, trains and cars, on willing feet they come

Many hundreds of thousands, together, then divided into female

And male cohorts for solemn assembly. These women are not frail

But, ranged in rows, project the power of people much kept down

Yet freed in this vast crowd. Their lips are parted, not in sound

But silent ecstasy of grief at all that must be borne,, including

Their leader’s death, and anger at the unbelievers’ stupid

Military that wiped a school and all its pupils from the map.

A dullness in their eyes says if I make a criticism or madcap

Joke amongst them, they’ll murder me and eat my balls.

 

Then I remember Paul Fusco’s photos of Bobby Kennedy’s funeral

Train from New York to Washington with people all down the line

Showing respect, especially the poor who saw him as a sign

Of hope because he knew the arc of the moral universe does not bend

Toward justice without the contemporary commitment

Of decent citizens. So, there they are, his people, marshalling

Themselves along the track, not in military formation, but calling

Families and friends into groups that speak of love and the struggle

To survive, as for example the family at the yard door of an ugly

Three story brick house, black people standing with pride, parents

And at least four children on the step, the eldest out front, wearing

Sunday best for the man who understood their royalty and was steering

The state towards their kingdom. The mother and eldest daughter wave

Affectionately towards RFK as he journeys towards his grave.

“Many people see the way things are and ask, Why? But

I see things that do not yet exist and ask, Why not?”

Fusco’s photos are a joyful critique of the Islamic Republic

Of Iran, and of Trump’s sad superpower America.