I spy with my little eye
my father the spy not looking like a spy.
Here we are in beautiful Langley,
home of the CIA, where nothing
happens. During the Cold War,
things not happening is normal.
I spy my father, who looks nothing
like a spy in his normal suit, smoking
normal cigarettes all day.
I spy with my little eye is a game
for my family to play in the car
on drives that go very far
because nothing happens when we go
nowhere except being unknown.
Here we are in beautiful metonymy
where “CIA” is concealed by “Langley,”
and if you’ve maintained anonymity,
you know there’s so much not to see.
My family’s dreams were classified.
If you’ve ever felt like a spy
in your own dream, then you know
nothing happens when you stay home.
Those who maintain anonymity
for the CIA call it “the agency,”
or even blander, “the company.”
My father has a story about a story
no one is allowed to tell
while smoking normal cigarettes.
During the Cold War, it’s normal
to notice that no Third World War
is happening, nothing remarkable.
I check in a mirror how little
and unremarkable my eye is.
It looks a lot like his.