My drivers come from Kabul, Karachi, Kurdistan
and other regions with smiles as wide as their crescents.
There’s a kinship we, non-natives share in shared spaces
in a Prius or shisha bar nothing melts our cultures more like roasting the English
we laugh, the resonant laugh of striving to belong.
We are here and amidst our faux lamentations
Alhamdulillah, my drivers say, it’s sweet to come home in one piece, everyday,
my wife is learning English at the college, my son has a Geordie accent,
he knows nothing of home, maybe I’ll take him someday,
there’s s a shared silence, a quiet acknowledgement of the maybe.
You know, 60 years ago, you, me Christians Muslims we lived side by side, nobody cared,
everyone ate, people slept and now…
                                   we should bomb the politicians instead,
we laugh, the kind of laugh we must laugh.

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