Expat Independence Day

So he has become a code jockey
riding algorithms on the high tech plantation
so our basic human needs
get met. At the door, a weary

woman with words like Bearded Angler
glowing in her caliginous depths, a boy
luminescent as jellyfish welcome him
with hugs, song and much spastic jumping.

We are all tired and foreign.
And these walls - blasted
white upon white upon white -
let us know we are not home

no matter
what kind of check
we write every month.
Our hairs mingle on the pillow cases;

we kick each other
in our sleep;
and never say sorry.
Sunrise brings kisses, smiles

and hope. Still,
the mellow days
wear me out more.
How tired is nothing?


* * *

I am learning

to define nothing.

Have given up

an identity constructed

of comic book iconography

and slamming wet clay

Goddesses into each other

until they become monsters.

I am damp, dirty and exhausted

trying to climb inside

fiction.


* * *


He works all day.

I work all day
at doing nothing.

And this child

of struggle and sacrifice
still thinks he is free.