It Might Be in Caracas, a poem by James D. Schwada

Might be in Caracas
Trading votes for bread
Might be in Damascus
Searching rubble for the Dead
Might be a hapless refugee
Intercepted out at sea
Interdicted at the Border
In the name of Law, and Order;
Or a missing Dissident
His family wondering where he went
Its raining but i’m warm and dry
Well fed and unafraid
But under no illusion
Its from choices that I’ve made
Or by the touted “grace of god”
Can’t make that leap
Can’t shake that doubt
Its down to Luck and mines been good
Hoping it wont soon run out.

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