Nathan Ruyle

Well, I came to America because I heard the streets were paved with gold. When I got here I found out three things: first, the streets weren't paved with gold; second, they weren't paved at all; and third, I was expected to pave them.
--Old Italian story

The ships docked
Unloaded their cargo
Single-file down the gangplanks
Under uniformed eyes
Watching closely

But the excitement To step foot on dry land To see the gray lady A silent Siren Welcoming the huddled masses With torch held high

Herded into cavernous rooms
Filled with pungent odors
Unwashed bodies waiting
Day and Night waiting
Cultured in sealed chambers

But not in silence Voices echo Words mingle An ambient music What is the same But different

Each one inspected
Marked and tagged
Coats chalked with letters
G- goiter, S- senility
X- suspected mental illness

But oh the harvest Strong backs, nimble fingers Wide-eyed children Separated from the chaff Deloused and ferried To the Golden City

And when they reach the shore
They pull the coins from their mouths
To pay Charon's fare