For God’s sake I am educated
And my ears are not segregated
From my body.
For the ninth time
This machine has gently chimed:
Please remove all metal objects
And drop them in the box outside.
As I stand I know I have not lied
My hands I have since held high
Placing on each sweating palm
As I try to remain calm;
My phone, keys, a pile
Of safety pins, office clips, a file,
and whatever more I can find.
Me thinks this machine
Was designed to give some lashing
To my precious pride.
Me thinks this to be tribalism;
I believe a covert camera was ascribed
the vexing task of revealing my tribe.
Frustration, deep-seated hatred
For this inanimate object-
Topple the lid of my boiling pot
Releasing venom, smoke and hot
Clouds of smoky words…
And then the door opens!
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