is the title of the book my father
intends to write when he grows up.

It is a hoax, of course;
there will be no other stories

just three hundred and fifty pages
of encounters with the TSA
      since 2001
and other, better men.

This is what I tell you
in a coffee shop on Wardour St.

It is one of several things I take for granted
that we already have in common.

You tell me your birthday,
Miami International Airport,

you are as much your father’s son as I am
      all daughter.

– Zara Shams