On Being American

I rode a train in Africa
through lands where once
the Fascists came
and people frowned and turned away
when ‘ere they learned my family name.

“No!  I am American!”
a smile , a laugh
a warm embrace
“We thought you were Italian!”.

I grabbed a cab in Egypt
a land where once
the English ruled;
the driver frowned
till I spoke to him

“No, I am American”
a smile, a laugh
a friendly face
“I thought you were a Britain man!”

In my youth I walked the streets
 Karachi and Lahore
Addis and Adana
Asmara and Mysore

where Americans were always welcome;
not so any more
since we’ve become the empire
forever waging war

Ore the world on nine eleven
were candles in the streets;
there was sympathy we squandered
deciding to abandon peace.

If we had spent my three score ten
feeding hungry women and men
think of the nation we might have been

if only we practiced what we preach
I know we’d have no enemies;
I know it.
I just know it.

.

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