In the car
at the US-Canadian border.
Three questions:
What’s your citizenship?
What’s your business?
Do you have anything to declare?
Three answers:
US.
Going out to dinner.
No.
I cross the Ambassador Bridge.
At the airport gate
my husband presents the attendant
with tickets for the unused legs
of his brother’s two round trip fares.
No questions.
He flies to Iowa.
Anachronistic airport metal detectors.
Nail clippers are personal hygiene implements.
Passengers with hard-to-pronounce names
receive sincere apologies
not indefinite detention
and interrogation.
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