Saturday, May 20, 2017

The Comers

When my dad was eighteen,
He came from Italy,
Lived with his Paesan' in St. Catharines,
For moolah liberty,

It wasn't hard to work in construction,
Basic'lly wop country,
Still the foreman yelled you better work hard,
There's a ship coming filled with more of ye,

This was the treatment of the new comers,
By the newly arrived,
Who'd already displaced the existing,
Indigenous one's lives,
Stamped white into their kin,
While ensuring they'll never be equal,
Ident'fied by the color of their skin.

No comments: