SANG ET EAU

In my jovial youth I was never Chinese
 enough for the ventricles of my own blood,
Nor born in Canada long enough 
to be candidly Canadian
I say I'm sorey, I ask in Eh's
And now here in  the Other America 
My English is just perfumed enough that the other foreigners don't see me as one of them
But Im pretty sure I'll never be One Of Them either
Who's to say my mid, western accent is  or isn't detectable?
I'm not really a domestic!
I explain at work in broken Spanish,
And no one thinks I'm bilingual in any useful sense

DIAS DE NUESTRAS VIDAS

The semantics de cada semana
Loony lunes et un war de mars
I beg of mercurial Mercredis a merde of mercies
Of parched pardons and of graceless thanks
I don't really belong here
I won't really be long anywhere
But alone in the open prison of my borderless mind
Flows like whitewater, 
There is no sabbatical from
the constant calculus of how to speak to you
So that you might understand me
But I just fall ever backwards into  rehearsed platitudes 
Just me and my absent, cosmic gods.