POEM: Here on Abet

A mythic narrative that describes the arc of my fairly well is the idea that I am here on a bet. More specifically, the bet was that, as in a previous , I was a peasant scolding those living in affluent countries as not behaving justly to their fellow . As the story would go, I bet that I could do a much better of that if I were living in their . So…here I am. Of course, my actual biography suggests this as well. I was born in to well-educated Americans serving there temporarily as doctor and nurse. My fate was entirely different than the Haitians populating the village I was born in. As in the mythic narrative, I was whisked away to an entirely different , affluent and unmindful, and perhaps even actively scornful, of other cultures, particularly and black. I describe the biggest tension in my as a struggle to make sense and purpose of the chasm between affluent Western , ostensibly the “First World,” with economically non-Western cultures, the “Two-thirds World.” I still struggle. The bet is still on.

Here on Abet

I got
Here on abet
Soully that
I will
I a test
Due bettor
My grave conviction
From a bounding go arounds
Of a thousand peasantries
In efface of each
And every marrow
Of serf and turf
My behind
In a whirled
Of vane
My ahead
In the deep end
Of the betting pool
Karmicly quipped
Down with ante up
Even knowing
Feeling stranger
likes the odds
Sow why grouse
As rigged game
Only too have
Found myself
In a broke world
Stuck in the whole
Fore what peers
Like forever

This entry was posted in About Top Pun, Poems and tagged , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply