Immigration Blues
I ask for safety but you tell me I’m mad
“Way back home things can’t be that bad
what’s wrong with you that you’re packing a sad”
It can’t happen here
it can’t happen at all
My brother wears black but his shoes are brown
no one will hire him in the whole damn town
day after day he walks up and down
It can’t happen here
it can’t happen at all
It only makes English when the telephone rings
I’m scared in my heart to answer the thing
when I was a little girl I knew how to sing
It can’t happen here
it can’t happen at all
I try to speak good but they tell me it’s well
do they want the words for living through hell?
I just want a rock where I can park my shell
It can’t happen here
it can’t happen at all
Mary Cresswell is a book reviewer and poet who first published in Blackmail Press in 2005. She lives on the Kāpiti Coast. Her latest book is 'Body Politic' (The Cuba Press, Wellington, 2020). See also her Book Council profile: https://www.read-nz.org/writer/cresswell-mary/
