Hand of Friendship

He stood upon a hill and waved to me.
The first thing that I noticed was his smile,
And friendship that it offered seemed to be
What made my immigration strife worthwhile.
I climbed the hill and took his proffered hand,
I shook it, and I flashed my brightest grin.
My family was in the promised land,
And thus began our journey to fit in.
Though most of our new neighbors welcomed us,
And we worked to become Americans;
The politics became so poisonous,
That all our invitations turned to bans.
He stands upon the hill, out in the sun,
But now his hand of friendship holds a gun.

Mick McKellar
October 2018

Maybe that change is not the result of immigration, but the politics of hate and fear turning our welcome sour.

Mick