So it begins again.
Out here in Rambling Harbor, where the fog rolls thicker than campaign promises and gulls squawk like pundits, I heard the old chant—Communism!—echoed not from a union hall, but from the gilded throat of a man who once sold steaks and bankrupt casinos. Trump saw Zohran Mamdani win the mayor’s race and called him a communist. Not a progressive. Not a democratic socialist. Just red paint on a dreamer.
It’s familiar. Every time someone feeds the hungry or dares to house the poor, the powerful reach for fear. They don’t know Marx from Mamdani, but they know fear sells. Say “communism” loud enough, and you don’t have to explain why the soup kitchen’s empty or the subway’s crumbling.
Trump says it’s “communism vs. common sense.” But if common sense means ignoring hunger, I’ll take the red flag and wave it like a lifeline.
Out here, we remember sovereignty isn’t yachts and tax breaks—it’s warm meals, safe beds, and mayors who dream in public.
And I’ve been thinking about words. Big ones. Loaded ones. Communism dreams of erasing the lines. Socialism redraws them more fairly. One says, “No rich or poor.” The other says, “Let’s make sure the poor don’t die waiting.”
We weaponize both. Call libraries socialist and bailouts capitalist. We forget the post office is a miracle, and roads don’t pave themselves.
Me? I’m just a poet with a busted radio, listening to hunger beneath the headlines and wondering what kind of world we could build if we stopped arguing about labels and started listening to mercy.
Out here in Rambling Harbor, the tide keeps rising. And I keep writing—because someone has to remember the difference between a dream and a distraction.
—Dan, still rambling, still harboring
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Rambling Harbor 
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