Immigrants   I get the metaphor, see its appeal — the sappers under the walls, bent on ruining everything, taking what you have, using what is yours. They come to kill, to steal — such a compelling story! So tell me: who are the sappers here? Allow me to name them, the foot soldiers of time, with those same words that used to crack me up — bunions, rheumatiz, Arthur-itis, piles, frozen shoulder. Not so funny now that I’m the stranger — dispossessed, stateless, beaten by changes — an immigrant in the land of the old.     © Michael Fleming Brattleboro, Vermont September 2024