On Being Interrogated, Leaving Israel

In the very most opulent airport ever—

marble floors, carved walls,

accordion pillars, resplendent ceilings,

other luxuries I can’t remember—

they make an ugly face to the world.

They find out if you like Palestinians,

whereon you are thought a new enemy,

sniffed out in advance of existence,

the interrogator’s antenna guiding

the lightning strike of his eyes,

promising wrath in Jehovan abundance,

asserting insatiable craving for conflict,

making even this marvellous airport feel

as if filled with tear gas and flying stones.