Farzaad serves the coffee in a cafe in the shopping mall.
Ten years here from Kandahar with green card, he's
American, or mostly. Sometimes, he is not. A woman
Comes in with her friends. They're similar to all the others:
Nicely dressed, and rich, and clearly used to getting
What they want, but this group isn't gay or haughty.
One is sobbing, and the others murmur to her tenderly.
One leans toward Farzaad and orders coffee for
The group of them. She whispers that her weeping
Friend has learned her son is dead. A car bomb killed
Him in Afghanistan. Farzaad puts on a sorry face,
Then turns and walks toward the kitchen, burning
Angrily within. "You damned Americans! You think
That when you fight a war, only others die!"

Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 70 times
Written on 2018-06-25 at 18:26

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Brilliant! I love it. You've captured the immigrant perfectly.
"he's American, or mostly. Sometimes he's not."
For some reason it resonates with my own thoughts of the U.S. I am a legal immigrant of many years as well. But I would think that when it comes to war against those of your country of birth there is that feeling--even those born in the U.S might feel it sometimes too.