Them Immigrants

She said  Send me 

your huddled masses yearning to be free.

He said Lend me 

your immigrant asses yearning to work for me.

She calls out for all mankind

have a little compassion willya cuz they need some time

to get their act together, find some opportunity–

to make it on their own, juz like you and me.

 

He insists they play by the rules

cuz  our ancestors were no fools–

they broke the ground,  forged their own tools!

She said yeah but that was then and this is now

they just got off the boat–they don’t know how– 

not yet.

Just get

me some productivity he said,

while masses toiled and earnings fed.

 

But then the Great Recession changed all that;

by n bye entitlements got fat;

while jobs went stale, wages flat.

All that pie in the sky we be been dreaming of

went splat in the face when push came to shove.

So now them huddled masses yearning to be free

dun scooped them jobs from you an me,

or so they say.

 

But hey,

it’s all good in the ‘burbs, it’s hunky-dory in the ‘hood,

them doin’ what them could, we doin’ what we should,

raisin’ upward mobilitators, squeezin’ out them couch potatoes,

’til black swans fly o’er white doves’ gains,

and burnin’ wood doth move against more-of-the-same.

 

Smoke

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