I’ve grown to like this little room.
It’s become a bit of a haven for me.
I close the rusty metal door
and its squeak and clang
make me feel secure.

Not that I worry about safety much here.
but there is a film of dirt
and layer of degradation
that I simply can’t ignore
when I’m out there on the
street walking by trash, graffiti,
and people who look so tired
and hopeless.
I guess I can understand their fascination
with the United States.
It’s not Disneyland and perfect
like Carolina thinks.
We have lots of problems.

But she’s closer than those
who hate us
and think that we are the source of all the world’s ills
and are still writing songs about Viet Nam
for heaven’s sake.

Probably the ones who have it closest
are those who risk their lives to
cross the border to come to a place
where they can work hard,
be paid for their labor
and experience, if only second-hand
the fruits of a society
that’s core value is
freedom.

2/27/09