Saturdays Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

Saturdays

Saturday of each month, ‘the first one'
We gather as friends
A coffee and some words
Here, there, things common
They don't know
What they say, in my heart, is dagger
(Not always)
But some times
In emails and of race
They think that my roots are deep in ground
They are wrong
I'm friend and forgive; all of them
Bill and Bob and Terry, and so on
This bouquet; flowers
Just one name does not fit
Middle Eastern, which is me.
One of those whom they claim:
"Must go; leave."
And I laugh as they do.
Let them think I agree.
I forgive.
(So have done prophets.)