Customs: A Love Story Poem by Mohamed Hassan

Dear airport customs officer,
I know you want me.

I saw you staring from across the terminal
that dark look in your eyes,
a hunger you don't quite understand.

Maybe it's the way my name swirls around your tongue,
my olive skin a grainy passport photo.

You tell me it's random, but I know
the moment our eyes locked
you couldn't wait to get your hands on me.

Strip me down,
search through all my baggage,
I don't have much but I'll share it
with you.

It's not that I'm not flattered
getting chosen out of all these people.

Their jealous sneers as I'm let down the aisle
and into the questioning room.

It's the way i've always dreamt it would be,
and you have so many questions:
where I grew up,
am I single,
have I ever been part of an international terrorist syndicate.


Listen, let's take things slow
I want this, I do,
but let's build a relationship on more than just racial profiling.
I want you to know the real me.

You see
I'm just a boy, standing in front of a boy
asking him
to let me in