Srinath sits.
Srinath thinks, as always.
He can no longer be coerced.
He can no longer be battered and bruised.
But he can be threatened.
His life is so much better here.
He can work.
People pay him to teach English to other refugees.
There’s enough food for his wife and son,
though it has to be rationed.
At least none of them will grow fat!
There’s a nice hovel of a flat
in the bare bones of the city
and though the roof leaks sometimes
there is almost enough heat. 
He never imagined when back
in his hot desperate homeland
that he would find shivering with cold
so intellectually stimulating.
But he can be threatened.
The INS plods and pushes and prods
about his wife having worked for the Tigers
and they only very warily just barely
allow him to stay.
He tells him she was forced against her will 
to work for the Tigers, she being
the only qualified nurse for many miles.
The US  Department of State,
those incompetent politicos!
They must know that the Tigers offered
the only hope when the military
was killing and torturing everyday Tamils.
Maybe these skeptical fools will believe him. 
and let his brilliant son, 
who wins awards in the Newark schools
remain.  Even if the parents must vacate
they will find a place for him
and he will continue.
And Srinath will overcome.
And Srinath will survive.
He didn’t endure the army’s beatings and taunts
to give up now, when he has it so easy.
So Srinath sits.
And Srinath thinks, as always.
                        

	modeled on a theme by Brad Aaron Modlin

I missed electing the pet hamster class president.
I missed the lovely wind that blew our teacher, Miss Delmonico, 
     out of the classroom and into the county jail.
I missed the principal’s hot fudge sundae dream.
I missed learning that 2 + 2 doesn’t have to equal 4, 
     if you don’t want it to.
I missed homework from the cloud 
     that was our substitute teacher for the day, 
     and who taught the rest of the class 
     how to float in the sky with no cares or fears.
I missed learning that nouns can be verbs and verbs can be nouns 
     if they truly desire it.
I missed learning how to write my own epitaph.
I missed the first day of forever.
                        

	after the book and film “Twelve Years a Slave”

Twelve years a slave.
Stolen from the good life,
the free life.
beaten down, horsewhipped,
stripped of almost all
that makes one human 
save that which they could not steal,
barter, or bludgeon away:
selfhood, that dignity inside
that burns aloof. so
that it can’t be seen or felt
but is known by you.
And your slavers.