A Snippet Poem by Morgan Michaels

A Snippet



I looked across the asparagas at my adversary. That, in this town, is what you call the person sitting across from you at a dinner party, whether you've met them before or not. Unless, of course, a romantic interest supervenes.

He was chattering to the lady on his left, who was bending his way and listening as if spell-bound. A scotoma of candle flame interrupted a view of his face.

'I think immigration represents a brain-drain for the mother country, ' he said, roundly.

Amazing and very clever. Put that way, it seemed less an affront to certain cherished liberal, American values. Speaking only for myself, I do not feel people should air their extremist views at dinner parties. It bodes ill for digestion.

'Why, ' he continued, unflappably, 'should the brightest and most energetic be let to emigrate here? Just because their countries have the bomb? or remain friendly to other economic systems? And the prisoners and gang-members? Shouldn't they stay home and be obliged to help build their societies for the betterment of their people? Must we always assume their cost? Shouldn't they build a stable middle class and not flood the labor market here? Must all countries send their felons and chronically ill this way, for the middle class to pay for in taxes? Must everything be about money and influence? And cheap labor? Must media-spewn ideology always trample reason? Must opportunity always mean 'here'? ' Can't it be found elsewhere? And, as for AIDS, can't we just export the meds? '

Blasphemy! Annoyed by this sort of illogical 'back door' conservatism, I replied, leaning forward,

'You must be a Republican.'

'I voted for Obama, ' he said, curtly, barely looking at me. 'And even if I were, do you guage the validity of an idea by the political party of its advocate? '

This I found evasive in the extreme.

'Stick to the point, ' I said.

At that moment the soup arrived...

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