Border Crossing Green Light



Daybreak and there’s another
border to cross
This one has a bridge, that one
had a turret
Show cards, papers, cash and smile
No cash
Cat in the glove box
kids in the trunk, just until
we’re across
You smile at the guard, too

Green light

With cool indifference, they ask:
Where are you going?
Where are you from?
What are you doing?
Why are you doing that?
Typing lazily you wonder if they’re even listening
But their booth is a foot above your window
and they only want to hear your sins
Confess nothing

Green light

Pulling forward, you
rub your hand across your forehead
stop at the gas station ahead
let the kids out
let the cat out
Keep driving and you’ll get there in a few days
to your grandmother’s friends from a time
when everyone showed kindness

Green light

and you’re off
tonight your family will sleep in the car
on the side of the road
in the rain
tomorrow you’ll drive again unless
you run out of gas, get in an accident or just
fall apart mentally
Maybe she’ll leave you tomorrow
and take the kids with her
but leave the cat

Red light at bedtime and sleep comes uneasily
She kisses you lightly to relieve
your fears she kisses your tears
Laying your head back and reclining
just a bit
You fall asleep
and wait for the day’s light

Published by Adam F.C. Fletcher

I'm a speaker and writer who researches, writes and shares about youth, education, and history. Learn more about me at

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