[This is about one of the guards at the entrance to the Rare Books and Music Reading Room.]
Besides, I’m the Foreigner
I like him for his gentle, almost sly
Smile, nearly shy, but, no, not quite. A smile
That’s mostly in the lips but in the eye
Is boosted on a face that knows no guile.
There must be some who think that in this day
And age I ought to be afraid of such
A fellow if we met in a café
Or passed each other on the street, too much
The dark-skinned, buzz-cut guy. These bigots think
That someone foreign-looking with the East
Upon his face is suspect . . . I should shrink
Away from him. These people leave me creased
With laughter. He is one of the few blokes
Who actually enjoys my lame jokes.