A poem about a regular biometrics appointment with USCIS on Monday morning.
7:46 Monday morning
Pulling into the parking lot
“Is that the line for the coffee shop?”
“No, that’s our line.”
People lined up on the sidewalk
Wrapped around the building from the door
The appointment isn’t until 8.
Is everyone’s appointment at 8?
We wait in line -
Brown skin, white skin, olive, black.
English, Spanish, Hindi, Arabic, Swahili -- maybe?
Everyone has papers in hand.
Some came alone
But most came with someone.
Can’t be too safe right now
Don’t go alone.
I’m not allowed in.
Applicants only.
I wait outside, watching
As he goes through each station.
Fifteen minutes later, he’s finished
He comes outside with stamped papers
Fingerprints and picture updated in the system.
We celebrate momentary safety with tea at the coffee shop
And watch the line outside dwindle.
“Get in line” they say.
Well, this is the only line to stand in
And by 8:23 on a Monday morning
It’s gone.
