No, this is not exactly what it purports to be. 
The Stalin of my title is not that 20th century ruler of the USSR. 
Rather, he is a young man, alive now, in Mexico City who 
Came up to me after a reading and asked me 
To sign his book. I confess, his name surprised me, 
And I asked him to repeat it. He did, and I dutifully 
Dedicated the book to him. Afterwards, I imagined that 
His father had been a party member and named him 
Stalin in a moment of pure hope that his newborn 
Son would change the world, that he would foment a fierce 
Unbending revolution, end the suffering of the poor and 
Punish the rich, the drivers of American and European cars, 
The people to whom tacos are “street food.” But fathers 
Often get it wrong. An infant’s face can’t tell you much 
About the future. I would bet money this Stalin is a poet himself, 
A reader of lyrics, a romantic moved by the way words 
Can touch each other, innocently, the way a woman 
And a man walking on the wide concrete outside 
The Palacio de Minería might look up at the rooftops 
And then back down toward the pigeons, and down 
Farther still to the carved stones and Aztec sacrifices resting 
Undiscovered, so many meters beneath the street. 
What novels are you reading, Stalin? What films do you like? 
And what possessed you to buy my poemario and ask me 
To sign it? Perhaps you turned down the wrong hallway 
At the bookfair and heard my friend Omar Villasana 
Announce the reading was about to start, or you saw those 
Huge windows in the salon, wide open, their curtains 
Flapping like white sails or birds’ wings. Maybe you just 
Needed a place to sit. The corridors and the long 
Staircases of the Palacio are exhausting. And the book? 
Did you read it? I’m embarrassed that I didn’t ask you more 
About yourself and write more on that title page. By now, 
You’re likely working or studying at a university, 
And the book I signed—with its poems for Ximena and the one 
About my father’s orchids—is forgotten, wedged tightly on 
Your shelf, between Lenin’s critique of imperialism 
And Gramsci’s Prison Notebooks. 

George Franklin’s

fifth poetry collection, Remote Cities (Sheila-Na-Gig Editions), and a dual-language collaboration with Colombian poet Ximena Gómez, Conversaciones sobre agua/Conversations About Water (Katakana Editores), were released in late 2022. Recent publications include: Rattle, One, Cagibi, New York Quarterly, MacQueen’s Quinterly, Tar River Poetry, The Ekphrastic Review, and the anthology Sharing This Delicate Bread: Selections from Sheila-Na-Gig online 2016-2021. Franklin practices law in Miami and teaches poetry workshops in Florida prisons.

Author’s website: https://gsfranklin.com