O kind and lovely police officer, sitting in your cubicle in the Central Passport Office in Tehran
O sweet and powerful policeman, most important man in my life
Who changed my hysterical despairing sorrow to joy and happiness with a stroke of your magic pen
Who promised me the magic document, the passport that will arrive tomorrow
And it did.
Oh My God.
You are so powerful.
You and your magic pen let me keep my plans and promises and travel itineraries.
If you had not listened to me,
If you had not been logical and understanding and kind and effective
If you had not understood that three days of public holidays to celebrate the end of Ramadhan would have meant the Golden Boy would not receive his passport on time
And he would not have been able to travel back to Halifax on time
And all our plans would have been corrupted
But you, you, o kind and lovely police officer
You, oh noble gentleman of the Central Passport Office,
You, who listened to my trembling voice saying “my son! his passport hasn’t arrived yet! Please!”
My hands were covered in white dirty gloves which the female guards at the Passport Office had forced me to wear
To hide my beautiful Gypsy Rose L’Oreal nail polish
And the documents slipped and slithered in my cloth grasp
A rabble of hysterical public was screeching at my back, waiting for their turn, waving bit of papers- I had waited amongst them for an hour, too,
I told you the problem, you listened.
You picked up your pen and wrote something and tapped in your computer.
Then you told me that the passport would come to me tomorrow.
And it did.
You are an amazing man,
All the animals plus Man.
All the superheroes are you.
I know what they say about the police in Tehran.
But this one is for you, o superhero of the Passport Office.