He’s different, too other for
the natives to accept, people
whose hands he vigorously
shakes. They look at his teardrop
eyeglasses with worry, suspicion
for his stilted English and overdriven
work ethic. “There’s ten million billion
more just like him,” they say with a fear
that he’s just the first drop of a tsunami
that will drown their racial purity.
“We gots to be loyal to our own kind.”
They justify their xenophobia with
their blind patriotism and willingness
to employ slaves, which makes them
good people, since “the slaves din’t
choose to come here and take our work
away from us”. He never hears them,
content to work hard and save for
passports, boat fare and a car for his
reunited family to drive, out of Georgia
and into the world.
Author notes
Inspired by Flannery O'Connor's "The Displaced Person"
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