~
“You know, Ward,” says June
to husband Ward Cleaver,
“last night you were hard
on the Beaver.”
After the laughter and snicker
die down,
I can hear from behind me
an audible sound
where a family surrounds
their car on a lot,
a fast-food diner,
where I hear them talk.
The yawp of what’s next,
from a ‘To-Do’ hit list,
where each one will sit,
and who gets in first.
This is the family
flagship of par,
the 21st Century
prime exemplar.
Who is to say
the better or worse?
When a culture divides
it makes it diverse.
But isn’t that what
the country’s about?
“Give us your poor,
your lost, thrown out.”
I stand on the ridge
of the culture, astride:
Divergent convergence,
and emergence arrives.
The culture that was,
isn’t long to survive,
but hang on the walls,
of a great enterprise.
“That was an ancestor.
I have his eyes.
Imagine my coming.
His total surprise.
And here was the milkman;
the postman, and someone.
And this one’s the neighbor,
who lived right next door.”
Give us your tired, your hungry and poor.
We’ll come up with something.
That’s what we’re for:
A Bouillabaisse Nation,
what’s one culture more?
And, should you not like it,
well….there’s always a war.
I stand now bestraddle
the Culture Divide.
I laugh at some babble;
with another, I cry.
A culture chameleon,
I still will survive.
But, by God! sometimes
it’s hard to know why.
There always is something
that doesn’t sit right.
But hold on one minute,
we’ll make it fit tight
In the Bouillabaisse Nation
of many archetype.
~
©2013, Marvin Loyd Welborn
5 August 2013
Poem’s Score: 0.7