Perched on a foreign outpost,
Above the world’s unplanned commands,
I’m anxiously looking across
For somewhere safe to land.

Whether it be the East’s desert sand,
Or the turbulent strands
Of the West’s Rio Grande –

Wherever I land,
Will they ever understand?

Do I need an identifying ankle band?
Is the law of the land
Corrupt contraband,
Or cash in hand?

Editor: Erynn Crittenden