The Chosen

I am on line at the choosing
Rehearsing what I will say
Clutching my flimsy resume
Desperate to be accepted

I approach the admission table
A rank of judges behind it
I wither under their solemn stare
What am I doing here

I offer my folder to one
Who passes it right then left
Some snicker others look bored
I feel discovered laid bare

So you would be a chosen one
Have you been hungry or oppressed
Have you ever been close to death
Faced by injustice what did you risk

Ever been tortured made to recant
Have you done anything to rein evil in
Again and again my answer was no
And I knew that I could not win

Your papers say only you feel for them
For that you expect us to let you in
A general laughter accompanied this
I shrank and wished it would end

The spokesman returned my papers to me
And signaled for me to move on
Come back when they’ve killed you
He said then perhaps we will see

late ’95, 2/2/96, 2/5-2/9/98, 5/13/98, 7/5/98

Copyright 1996, 1998 by Maurice Leiter

Posted with permission.