Yard Sale of Thoughts

Borders are often unseen—
the wall of wealth, the gender gap.
Your face, a road sign I can't read.

No welcome billboard, 
just squinting confusion,
blinking ignorance,
we both agreed.

Long line to check passports.

You held mine to the light, heated up the glue.
I didn't know I'd crossed from being me 
to being you.

I'm illegal now, an ant on your skin,
inching away.
The question is, how long will I stay?

The visa stamp is missing. The pages replicated,
but incomplete. Somethings wet and dripping.

Inspection follows, brief, but discreet.

I stare at the panties at my feet.

And when it's over,
I am waiting outside the station, 
cuffs chaffing,
to be arrested or deported,
maybe both.

Safe to say, I crossed a border today,
under oath.

©2025 | K.F. Hartless

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Djo “Basic Being Basic”