And Deidre Smiled

Bag in hand
and
hand on heart
(my chest proclaiming
Jesus would smoke pot)
I passed through the green channel

Deidre
(if her name-badge was to be believed)
beckoned.
She took,
and opened for a second,
my passport

“ Occupation poet?”
“ Yes,” I said
“ What’s in the bag?”
“ Words,” I said
“ And did you pack it all alone?”
I nodded:
“ Yes, they’re all my own”

Deidre opened the bag,
and took out words at random.

In addition to my smalls
(the little words)
she found
(hiding amongst love and dreams and beautiful sunsets)
drugs and handguns.

“ I can explain,” I said
“ look!”
and pointed
at the words she had placed
on the counter:

In the Autumn
many drugs distracted her,
and fragments of beautiful sunsets
were but handguns to the mind.
Under one universe,
or another,
she dreams.

He was Infinity
she was Love,
always.

“ Very good,”
I said

and Deidre,
lost for words,
smiled.