The Forty Second Parallel

I’ll go into exile
And I’ll say,
That my homeland
Looks like a rubber fish –
looks like a toy –
from where air has been pumped out With pistons,
Then fins cut around
With a blunt knife,
Tearing up gills,
And again they
Threw it back into the beach
It’s mouth toward the north wind.

A circle, sir!
the Forty Second parallel too, is
A noose, sir!
You put your heart into it and …
It strangles you.