Microstates

At a New York crosswalk
	A cicada takes flight
Beating wings tok tok tok
	To European sights

At Vatican City
	The Conclave elected
Watching smoke on TV
	Insects unaffected

At Gibraltar’s tall rock
	He rode on the ape’s tail
It spoke, “Voilà, Maroc”
	The Atlas peaks were pale

At frosty Andorra
	Under the Pyrenees
The sunset’s red aura
	And Franco’s tyranny

At Luxembourg station
	The streets named for presidents
The cicada’s nation
	Now a past residence

At the Monte-Carlo
	Cicada’s not allowed
 His old shoes have open toes
	He’s alone in the crowd

At serene Marino
	The dentists ask to dance
Although he does not know
	He joins with awkward stance

In Israel, promised land
	The cicada does not go
He’s not allowed, he’s banned
	God keeps the status quo

In Liechtenstein, the snow
	Hides the Holy Empire
It reaches his torso
	It covers his lyre

In each of these places
	Peered little compound eyes
Disregarding faces
	He did not compromise

Until he arrived to you
	His hair tangled, uncombed
He’s finally back to
	The microstate of home