silent vignettes

We Are The Americans                                                                      







I am
Joseph H. McIlhenny Ph.D.
Who in the year 1932
Was fired from my instructorship in psychology
At $1800 a year
The reason given by the university
“unavoidable retrenchments of staff”
the result
my wife’s death
and the death of the child inside her
I found her with her head in the oven
And the gas jets on
Unlit
I have no more to say
Except
That whoever brings back times like those
Has me to deal with…

I am
Alex Bukowski a seaman
Torpedoed twice in this war
But still kicking
And still delivering the goods
I am one of the men
Tom Dewey
Governor of New York
Beat out of their votes in this election
Knowing that I
And all the other seamen
Had his number
We still have
And it’s coming up…

I am
George Nakomis
Melter on the open hearth
With two boys in the Navy
Somewhere in the South Pacific
Since Pearl Harbor
I have tapped more heats on my turn
Armorplate steel most of it
Than any other melter in Homestead Works
And none of it checked “off specifications” either
But Dewey’s man Pegler
Says I oughtn’t be allowed to vote
Because I was born on the other side
What wouldn’t I give
To get my hands on those two guys…

I am
Virginia Sparks the wife of Wallace Sparks
And mother of his three soldier sons
Who saw in Hoover’s day
The farm sold out from under him
That he and his father and his grandfather
Had plowed their lives into
Wallace is a quiet man
A gentle man
A man who supports the church
But I was afraid then
For his immortal soul
When he raved of killing in his sleep…

I am
Theordis Jackson, Negro
A GI on the docks in Naples
Unloading ships
But before the war
I followed the crops on the East Coast
And I remember how it was
When the New Deal came in and helped us
With camps to live in that were decent
And hospitals for the sick folks
And relief money
That time the frost killed out the crops
And there wasn’t anything to pick
I remember how it was before that
In the sugar cane the celery and the beans
A whole family in one stinking room
Two cents a bucket for your water
Cheating you on your pay
And if you said anything
They’d like as not kill you
And throw your body in the canal
I can’t vote
Because Congress threw the President’s bill out
But after I get back I will by God
And I know that for…

I am
A man who once worked at the bench alongside of you
Or leaned on the bar with his foot on the same rail
It doesn’t much matter who
For you’ll never see me again
There I was on the beach running inland with the rest
And feeling a lot better than in the boat
Because at last there was something to do
And that was the finish
Whatever hit me
I never felt it
I don’t exactly want you to feel sorry for me
And I don’t care whether you remember me even
Only
I wouldn’t like it to happen
For you to forget what brought me to that beach
And where I was headed for…





                          John Beecher

























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