A Ballad of a Happy Immigrant

Pray one day you'll have a family like this. These traditions will pass on to you. Pray this broken table now dies slowly, now lies alone in a tool shed. One oval table, profane, four legged thing, a holy place of gatherings. Father, mother, price. A ghost eating a sade. Sunday mass barbecue sins, familiar sins, scattered all over the old chequered tablecloth. Sama, south to high. I am very, very excited iam to be launching my collection," he said.