The Song of the Foreign Knight
David Davies
Don’t call me an IMMIGRANT,
That word is so uncouth!
The term you want’s EXPATRIATE,
Much closer to the truth.
I chose to travel here, you see,
That choice was mine alone.
I could afford to move abroad
And make your land my home.
Don’t call me an immigrant,
That word has connotations,
Suggesting that I’m fleeing one
Of countless ‘shithole’ nations.
The place I left was very nice,
Though weather there’s shame …
But it’s clear I’d do better here,
And that is why I came.
Don’t call me an immigrant,
My papers are in order!
My passport’s authenticity
Was proven at the border.
I paid out all the visa fees
(For bribery’s no sin).
My accent’s mild, I’m not reviled,
And so they let me in.
Don’t call me an immigrant!
I’m up-to-date with tax
(And use a sly accountant who
Exploits all legal gaps).
My wages aren’t paid out in cash,
So when a downturn hits
My fate impacts employment stats
If ever I’m dismissed.
Don’t call me an immigrant!
It doesn’t call to mind
The white and prosperous neighborhood
Where I live unmaligned.
It doesn’t summon quite the image
Of foreign cachet,
Of G&Ts while overseas
At each expat soiree.
Don’t call me an immigrant,
That won’t sit well with me,
My homeland isn’t wrecked by
Greedy foreign policy.
I’m not escaping factories
Employers moved abroad,
Then shouted: ‘Look! THEY stole your jobs!!’
While shares and profits soared.
Don’t call me an immigrant!
I’m not sure I enjoy
The bigoted hypocrisy
Our senators employ,
Who boost their wealth on migrant jobs
Their voters won’t embrace,
Then lie to all they’ll build a wall
To pander to their base.
Don’t call me an immigrant!
My temper’s wearing thin.
I’m not judged by my language,
Or the color of my skin.
I’m not portrayed dishonestly
In movies and in shows.
I’m quite unlike the stereotype,
Don’t label me like those.
Don’t call me an immigrant!
I hope I’ve made it clear
I didn’t suffer all that much
In order to get here.
I didn’t wade on aching legs,
or walk on burning sand,
urging my feet through cold and heat
towards a foreign land.
Don’t call me an immigrant!
I didn’t work that hard
To get a student visa
Or apply for my green card.
My competence in English
Isn’t open for debate.
The form-filling is simple when
There’s no need to translate.
Don’t call me an immigrant.
You wouldn’t if you knew
I’m not committed to this place,
I’m only passing through.
I don’t intend to stay here long
Contributing much back.
No need to be ‘community’
When there’s nothing that you lack.
Don’t call me an immigrant.
It isn’t hard to see
I’m only here to ask: ‘What can
this country do for me?’
Self-interest drove the basis for
My choice to relocate,
But it’s those who serve me and you
Attracting all the hate.
Don’t call me an immigrant,
I don’t help, or provide
The backbone for this nation where
The wealthiest reside.
I don’t build homes, or nurse the sick,
Construct, repair, maintain ...
Then turn away when people say:
‘Go back to where you came!’
So don’t call me an immigrant,
I don’t deserve the praise
For raising up this country in
A billion different ways.
I’m only an ‘expatriate’ –
The most that I can claim.
That’s all I am. Save immigrant
For those who’ve earned that name.
That word is so uncouth!
The term you want’s EXPATRIATE,
Much closer to the truth.
I chose to travel here, you see,
That choice was mine alone.
I could afford to move abroad
And make your land my home.
Don’t call me an immigrant,
That word has connotations,
Suggesting that I’m fleeing one
Of countless ‘shithole’ nations.
The place I left was very nice,
Though weather there’s shame …
But it’s clear I’d do better here,
And that is why I came.
Don’t call me an immigrant,
My papers are in order!
My passport’s authenticity
Was proven at the border.
I paid out all the visa fees
(For bribery’s no sin).
My accent’s mild, I’m not reviled,
And so they let me in.
Don’t call me an immigrant!
I’m up-to-date with tax
(And use a sly accountant who
Exploits all legal gaps).
My wages aren’t paid out in cash,
So when a downturn hits
My fate impacts employment stats
If ever I’m dismissed.
Don’t call me an immigrant!
It doesn’t call to mind
The white and prosperous neighborhood
Where I live unmaligned.
It doesn’t summon quite the image
Of foreign cachet,
Of G&Ts while overseas
At each expat soiree.
Don’t call me an immigrant,
That won’t sit well with me,
My homeland isn’t wrecked by
Greedy foreign policy.
I’m not escaping factories
Employers moved abroad,
Then shouted: ‘Look! THEY stole your jobs!!’
While shares and profits soared.
Don’t call me an immigrant!
I’m not sure I enjoy
The bigoted hypocrisy
Our senators employ,
Who boost their wealth on migrant jobs
Their voters won’t embrace,
Then lie to all they’ll build a wall
To pander to their base.
Don’t call me an immigrant!
My temper’s wearing thin.
I’m not judged by my language,
Or the color of my skin.
I’m not portrayed dishonestly
In movies and in shows.
I’m quite unlike the stereotype,
Don’t label me like those.
Don’t call me an immigrant!
I hope I’ve made it clear
I didn’t suffer all that much
In order to get here.
I didn’t wade on aching legs,
or walk on burning sand,
urging my feet through cold and heat
towards a foreign land.
Don’t call me an immigrant!
I didn’t work that hard
To get a student visa
Or apply for my green card.
My competence in English
Isn’t open for debate.
The form-filling is simple when
There’s no need to translate.
Don’t call me an immigrant.
You wouldn’t if you knew
I’m not committed to this place,
I’m only passing through.
I don’t intend to stay here long
Contributing much back.
No need to be ‘community’
When there’s nothing that you lack.
Don’t call me an immigrant.
It isn’t hard to see
I’m only here to ask: ‘What can
this country do for me?’
Self-interest drove the basis for
My choice to relocate,
But it’s those who serve me and you
Attracting all the hate.
Don’t call me an immigrant,
I don’t help, or provide
The backbone for this nation where
The wealthiest reside.
I don’t build homes, or nurse the sick,
Construct, repair, maintain ...
Then turn away when people say:
‘Go back to where you came!’
So don’t call me an immigrant,
I don’t deserve the praise
For raising up this country in
A billion different ways.
I’m only an ‘expatriate’ –
The most that I can claim.
That’s all I am. Save immigrant
For those who’ve earned that name.
The poems of David Davies explore the traditional-made-new, something he has lived as a first generation immigrant to the USA. His Pushcart- and Bram Stoker-nominated writing has appeared in Granfalloon, The Underwood Press, Rise Up Review, and Shadow Atlas. His poetry collection Messengers of the Macabre was published by NAT 1 in October. https://messengersofthemacabre.com/
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