Budapest: A Quest Through Space and Time (part two)

 
II.

Guards in uniforms.
“Controllers.”
That is what we call them.
They check our passes.

A girl carrying a bag labeled “Amsterdam”
Tries to pass through without a tag.
The Controller Guards lunge
themselves at her, who scratches
and yelps.
They spit on her.
She gets away.

They look at me.

I’m next in line.

I show my pass
They nod, urge me along.
I let out a deep breath
For fear of doing wrong.

The girl from Amsterdam
May not be so quick next time.
The controllers lit a cigarette
And for a second I wonder
If they will take them and burn
The people with no passes.
But that would never happen.