I’ll address this to all of you -

this way it will be all inclusive.

We’re all democrats here, hey –

at least, when it suits us,

when it really matters.

Like freedom of speech –

in the basics, we’re blandly socialistic –

this and that when it suits,

I should know, I come from a Socialist country.

Yes, it’s your right to speak your mind.

And it's my right to say when you are wrong.

All you people, so neatly wanting to box me in,

confine me; keep between the red lines.

It’s not so easy, is it?

I have no clear country.

No America, no Europe.

I am a vagrant. Vaguely this, vaguely that.

My dress though, uncommon.

I am idiosyncratic, enigmatic

in my wardrobe of grey, pleated skirts,

my white-poplin pure peter-pan collared shirts

my blue tights and pink Converse or silver flats

This or the ribbon of my hair.

School-girl bobbed, unchangeable.

I guess I never grew up.

Which register will I hit? Oh shit.

I am the one you were certain was French.

I am your Resident Alien.

I am the one you’ll tolerate… for now....for now... for now...

I am your Department of Defense threat warning.

I am told, “They could send you home…”

Where the fuck is that? Where is home? Where is home?

You call me WASP

not knowing I am half or quarter Jew – more if i want to -

Which door do i walk into?

I could laugh – but I don’t want to. 

Your views are just so catholic - in the dictionary sense.

I am not your naïve Native American.

There will be no exchange of goods.

Oh America! By the rocket’s red glare

I see the shame on your hang-dog faces –

you have let yourself down.

Your bombs bursting in air

while your citizens sleep,

their pale lids softly closed,

while elsewhere the eyes of others

shocked open while you push, watch

Israel and Palestine battle it out

…again and again and again.

A man in the Jardin Luxembourg in France –

He tells me “As a Jew, you must go home.”

I wonder, How can I? All of this…je ne peux pas.... I am not able.

The chalky back-roads of Israel –

Do you hear my cry? Elijah? Elijah?

Tell us, America, what is Democracy?

You have been here several hundred years and yet…

You are a gunslinging cowboy.

Your response is predictable: then go. Get out.

Like Chaplin. Like Ginsberg.

Anyone who speaks anything that is not the present party line.

Can I stay if I say like a mantra –

Coca-Cola-Levis-Lexis-McDonalds-Ford-Saks-Fifth-Avenue

Needless-Mark-Ups.

There you go.