Poem of the Week

Why am I still so insulted by visa lotteries
that sift migrants—I, in particular?

Do I think I'm above the seed hopper,
the jostle to be one of the good ones?

The amulet of meritocracy has failed, obviously.
This is the junta of happenstance.

I could return to the tracing of despair
my country has become,

or adopt the patience of the indentured,
the grit of the gambler:
two more years, and then we rest.