My pen pokes through the fence with ease.
Beware:
If you can’t contain this smallest tip of me
(You can’t)
The rest will slip right in.
I’ll be an illegal immigrant
Hiding from the floodlights
Belly to the ground
Cash and my new face
Strapped to my back.
No Ellis Island
No great lady
To welcome me in.
Just the arbitrary borders
The gate, the gun, the hound,
The clerk holding my money
Up to the light,
Like he can see through it
Like it will sprout butterfly wings
And flitter over
All these places I’m not allowed to be.
(It will.)
Bond lives in West Windsor with his wife, Wendy, and son, Tommy, and works in Forrestal Village on Route 1.
