LIVING IN THE
IMMIGRANT WORLD
Like Gatti, and Lopez too, this vegetable
kingdom will have to do. It is 1921, and the
boats are still docking at the pier. All I hear
are words from other lands. All OK with me.
We take the semblance of all our somethings
and turn it into something else : immigrant
entry and people in lines. Unfolded papers
are sailing around.
-
How's that last gasp of the old world going
anyway? Can you see anything back thorugh
the ocean fog? Will they soon start flying this
route, instead of these nasty steamers? Is there
a man named Lindbergh trapped in here?
What is that distant sound?
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