Edited by Richard Stone
The Poetry Corner returns with two contributions from our Visalian friend, Bill Warner.
Those of you similarly incited to poetry (having foresworn violence), your submissions are welcome. Submission does not equal publication, but I promise at least to get back to you with my comments/suggestions if I decide against acceptance.
Thoughts after a Peace Rally
Standing out here in the burning sun.
Protesting war isn’t always fun.
I can’t change the world, I must agree.
I’m here to keep it from changing me.
—apologies to A.J. Muste
Written after getting the latest hate-illegals e-mails from my right-wing friends.
—Uncle Bill Warner
You came into our land without green cards,
With guns and swords in your hands.
You worked us to death in your missions
And you planted your flags in our sand.
Who gave you the right to take over,
And call us “illegal,” my friends?
Let’s see your green cards, amigos,
Let us put this charade to an end.
We toil in your orchards for peanuts,
We pick grapes in the hot burning sun.
We do the work of this country
But la Migra keeps us on the run.
This is Mexican land, you’ve forgotten?
You murdered our fathers for land.
Now you say “Let’s see your green card”
As you stick your flag in our sand.
Our ancestors watched in amazement
As you sailed your great ships to our shore.
And wrested our land from its owners
Which you said that “God gave you,” and more.
Perhaps had we told Chris Columbus
Or the Pilgrims who had it so hard.
“Let’s see your permits, mis amigos,
Or get your ass out of our yard!”
You send us down south of the border,
And the crops in your fields go neglected.
So the prices of foods they go higher.
The cost of your laws unexpected.
Now you build walls and call us “illegals”
And you treat us like dirt, even worse.
You know what galls most, mis amigos?
That we didn’t think of it first!