The Metic

The soul of the nation

Is only inclusionary

In the theoretical extreme

It has no consideration

For the Metic

The Metic exists between

In the middle

And at once outside

Excluded from the transpirings

The unfoldings

Of the events of his peers

Interactions met with jeers

Sympathy and compassion

Misinterpreted

Misconstrued

As foreign invasion

Walking

With his headphones on

Calmly

He contemplates

Such notions

And actions

Of his peers

And elders

And juniors

Their motivations were clear

And a mystery all the same

The days were cloudy

Perfect for thinking

Nobody here is worth giving

A damn for anymore

Many hours

Months

Years

Lifetimes

Wasted by such unstrategy

The Metic’s contributions

Of which there were many

Would be later enjoyed

By liberals

And revolutionaries

And conservative reactionaries

Pretending to be intelligent

As ultimately

None of them are

They always

Continued

To resist the logic

Of equality

And international brotherhood

When the time came

The Metic was killed off first

Followed quickly

By those he associated with

Followed then

By those they associated with

Picking off dissent

From the darkest shade

To the lightest

To the sympathizers

To the friends

The Metic once called brother

His warning

Went unheeded

But like his life

The death

Of the Metic

Was a fake

He transformed

And adapted

His assailers duped

By their own stupidity

Suffering

For a decade

As a refugee

The Metic then found

Another place

Two homes since removed

And started anew

He married a local

And produced with her love

More fatalistically doomed

But nonetheless

Intellectually brilliant

Little Metics