Checkpoints
(Briefing for the Immigration Boys)
by Joel Vega

 

They crawl backwards from exits
Sharp as fish scales, clean as knives
Their movement fluid in black water,
Nimbler in thin air.

In refrigerated spaces they are almost invisible,
More cunning than spotted crabs conspiring
In the depths of the North Atlantic.

At the checkpoints, apply rigour. 
Police flashlights cannot cut through the flesh
Though their wounds become visible
Under the heavy probe.
A word of caution: drip of blood
Mimics the colour of steel.

From Myanmar to Nilgiri, the key word is escape.
Country of origin: blank
Birthplace: blank
Name and nationality change like chameleon skin
Aliases camouflage plans, motives, and crimes. 
There is no antidote, repeat, no antidote
Against arbitrary arrest. Detention. Interrogation.
A few thousand dollars do not buy
Asylum or rule out illegal custody.

They should surrender passports if they have one.
Otherwise, confiscate their bodies, their bones
Their wallets, everything, anything,
Wrapped in leather, encased in stone.
No one should make it beyond those doors

Beyond those doors a cow is legal cargo
Tagged. Documented. They are not, will never be
Although they will be fingerprinted, photographed
Scanned, processed. In these sardine cans
Fish bones are

Thoroughly fingered
And are much less brittle
Than the most
Fictitious identities.

First published in Vespertine Press Anthology, 2005, San Francisco, USA

© Joel Vega

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