Lying Under Oath To Become A US Citizen

Perjury: I feel bad, very bad.

The only excuse I have is my wife,

who knocked herself out to get me here.

Lady MacHarley made me murder Truth.

Poetry is laced with lies, I remind myself:

exaggeration, embellishment, imagination

reported as real, a state of mind you put yourself in

but would never act out in real life; hence, lies,

art. I am a professional liar.

We freely denied and abjured any loyalty

to any state, like Canada, for example,

where I grew up and was nurtured.

Our right hands were up, ‘Under God’ we said,

so that I might move freely across these borders.

What remains for me, as for other criminals,

is to try to be decent and useful henceforth—

make up for what brought me so low.