We travled here when I was five. <br />Now I am ait, or so mum tells me. <br /> <br />I never thught this woud be a problem, <br />But mum tells me she doesnt know <br />How long the mouneys gonna last; <br />Never thought a paper dyed green woud hurt <br />Like an gang in the night: <br />It only helps if there on your side. <br /> <br />So they send me to the faktory from <br />Ait till ait, every day. There are <br />Other boys who wurk their too, but <br />I never get to talk cause the suit man, <br />He'll wip us good; but were all chaps <br />Cause we stick togethor behind their backs. <br /> <br />At night mum cries a lot, and my sis, she <br />Climbs into my bed, she's so scared. I wake up <br />Screaming-I had a dream the suit man <br />Was chasin me-mum sings me to sleep. <br />I wish papa were hear. Mum says <br />If we don't get more mouney, sis might start work too. <br /> <br />Tooday at the faktory I forgot to watch my hands, <br />The mashine came down; mum says the doc <br />Won't be too much, but it's hard wurking without <br />Two fingers now. We ate tooday, that was good. <br />Sis joined me at the faktory, mum says she has to. <br /> <br />Walkin to work, we saw a poster naled to a door: <br />'Oh America, America, so fine and fair your lands! ' <br />Sis looks me in the eye and says, <br />'Maibee papa brought us to the wrong America.' <br /> <br />I nod my head.<br /><br />Jonzo Bandwagoner<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/from-the-journal-of-a-polish-immigrant-1901/
