My school pals in Tehran prodded me:
You should go to the Land of the Free.
It’s heaven on earth, wouldn’t that be nice.
Disneyland and tall buildings, such a paradise.
You can do whatever, whenever you please,
A great place for golden opportunities.
Hollywood glamor, that’s what it’s about;
So many pretty girls, you’ll never run out.
At 19 then, I flew across the wide blue sea
To visit a cousin in Washington DC.
But it happened, they closed the whole town.
Martin Luther King had just been gunned down.
Tensions grew high, you couldn’t move about;
My reasons for coming I started to doubt.
After a while though, I was able to manage
A trip to Michigan to learn a new language.
There I encountered a scene quite startling:
Streaking naked apes with things dangling,
Masses of guys encircling women’s dorms
Holding cans of alcohol, breaking the norms.
With the girls waving bras and egging them on,
I thought I was staying in some loony town.
And then came an encounter more personal:
Having to stare at some defecating individual.
The student union’s toilets with no door
Made me seek privacy on Chem’s 6th floor.
At last, I missed fall enrollment I was told,
So dismayed I decided to return to the fold.
Tired, frozen, and dejected in snow I stood,
At a bus stop keeping as warm as I could.
I did not notice the shuttle stop sign;
And when I looked up, I was out of line.
Hustling a cab, I made it at the airport
To find that for my flight I was $200 short.
My money could only return me to my cousin;
And so reluctantly I resigned to settle in.
My cousin told me in six months or less
You’ll get yourself used to this crazy circus.
But first you should pick a name that fits in,
Hence with some doubt did my name Tom begin.
He found me work waiting tables, while not stylish;
There I made good friends who helped with English.
Even though at the time it did not seem,
My cousin was right about the American dream.
In half year, with job, friends, and a 65 Mustang,
My amazing adventure began with a very big bang.
America, I would never leave it.
© 2022, Kenneth Koziol. All rights reserved.