by Solmaz Sharif
Returning to the US, he asks
my occupation. Teacher.
What do you teach?
Poetry.
I hate poetry, the officer says,
I only like writing
where you can make an argument.
Anything he asks, I must answer.
This he likes, too.
I don’t tell him
he will be in a poem
where the argument will be
anti-American.
I place him here, puffy,
pink, ringed in plexi, pleased
with his own wit
and spittle. Saving the argument
I am let in
I am let in until
Copyright ©:
Solmaz Sharif
Last updated April 10, 2023