Bob Meszaros
Hungarian Freedom Fighter
In 1956 Father Babos escaped
the troops and tanks, the blood that pooled
and curdled on the cobblestones.
Now in a classroom in New York City
he teaches history and faith.
Father Babos is thin and pale;
and when he stands to teach, his voice
and fingers shake.
Students of defiance, we laugh
and raise our hands against his
broken English.
Our hands are white flags of betrayal;
the flags that silenced Maleter and Nagy;
our laughter tanks and soldiers moving closer.
In a classroom before a blackboard
in New York City, where instinct rises
like a sudden show of hands,
in black cassock
and stiff white collar, Father Babos
stalks the aisles between us
raging.
He hurls his words like stones.
