sometimes, and in some places, I can see the long journey old men are making

we're not even thinking of marriage... just

looking for the best biriyani in Queens-- 
we're still in New York but it feels like 

we're in India and A is a bit too white

for this place and so I take his hand 

right then, the old man sitting 

outside the mosque
looks up and then 

strides up to us
to tell us 

love is always precious to Allah
as he lifts his hands in blessing

*

we're making on our way back 

from our Mexican honeymoon

driving through Texas 

and stopping 

at a one-traffic-light town 

thinking it would be an adventure 

to sit at the diner where there are very

few women and every man wears a hat

bow-legged, an old man walks down the aisle 

as if he's in a Western... I don't think he's looked 

at me even once, but gazing earnestly into A's eyes 

he says, I think your woman has a very nice skin color