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  "path": "/article/208937/greenville-illinois",
  "publishedAt": "2026-04-23T10:00:00.000Z",
  "site": "https://newrepublic.com",
  "tags": [
    "Magazine",
    "Poetry",
    "May 2026"
  ],
  "textContent": "##\n\n\nAfter the metal detector, there was no pat down.\n\nA guard marked my wrist with ultraviolet ink\n\nthat shone in blacklight. Since I had cleared\n\nthe background check, my books were my identification.\n\nThe inmates sat in bleachers of the big gymnasium\n\nwhere the sultry air smelled of perspiration and weights.\n\nAfter I read each poem, they snapped their fingers\n\nto encourage me to keep going. A few licked ice cream cones.\n\nWearing clean khaki uniforms, they raised their hands politely\n\nto pose rather personal questions, before forming a line,\n\nlike ambassadors, to shake my hand. A famous economist\n\nhad argued with them about Capitalism, they reported,\n\nwhich they believed was based on lies, not trust.\n\nIf you lie, they said, you become the president.",
  "title": "Greenville, Illinois"
}