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I No Longer See It on Mulberry Street
I used to walk home from school each day,
then report back to Pop, what I saw on my way.
I’d imagine all sorts of things wondrous and neat,
in my mind, with my brain, on old Mulberry Street.
But now if I tell him about all those things
There’s simply no end to the trouble it brings.
I can’t say a person’s from this place or that,
and I can’t ever say that they’re skinny or fat…
Imagining things about genders or races,
or hair that might grow under arms or on faces,
why that might disgust them! It might make them sad!
It might even offend them, and THAT would be bad!
So, what should I say about the people I’ve met?
The rules have changed, and there is no safe bet…
It’s all so confusing, these pronouns and such,
(THEY used to be plural…) It’s all a bit much.
If I meet someone new, and I ask where they’re from,
or if they like movies, or if they chew gum,
why, their answers might lead me to see that we two
are a little bit different, and that just won’t do!
It seems that the people in power today
want everyone else to feel just the same way.
We all should be equal, yet still be diverse,
And they don’t see their changes are making things worse.
I once saw the milkman, in a broken-down cart
being pulled by a horse, and it still warms my heart
to remember the things I imagined that day,
before the thought police took my stories away…
I imagined a Chinaman, eating with sticks,
(Some do, by the way; I can show you the pics!)
but they found it offensive, that one single line,
and now no one can read those great thoughts from my mind.
The zebra and chariot, the raja with gems,
the mayor and aldermen, well what about them?
So now I walk quietly and stare at my feet,
and pretend I see nothing, on Mulberry Street.
.
.
Her World, No More
You left her lying in the field,
__sad, afraid, and broken;
you always pointed out her flaws,
__but her value was left unspoken.
There was a time you made her walk
__behind you, in your shadow…
and even then, you put her down
__and kept her self-worth shallow.
Luckily, you didn’t know her
__strength or resolution;
you underestimated her
__resilient constitution.
She crawled across your fading tracks,
__and stood on her own two feet,
then grew and thrived, for even bruised,
__her loving heart stayed sweet.
She came across a cave of gray,
__where I had crept to hide
and wait until my final day
__found me asleep inside.
It seems I’d been her first true love,
__and she saw past all my scars;
her perfect voice woke up my soul,
__and warmed my cooling heart.
For she had been my first love too,
__back in our days of youth,
and even though I’d messed it up,
__her heart still knew my truth.
So I must give you thanks today,
__though friends we’ll never be;
you had her once, but did her wrong,
__and now she’s safe with me.
.
.
Dusty Grein is a retired Managing Editor of a small press publishing company—as well as a graphics designer, author, and poet. Originally from Federal Way, Washington, he is a lifetime resident of the Pacific Northwest. His critically acclaimed best-selling novel, The Sleeping Giant, and his first poetry collection, A Mist Shrouded Path, are available in print and as Kindle Select titles. His shorter works and award-winning poetry have been published in several collections, including Chicken Soup for the Soul, OWS Inked, and The Quarterday Review. His blog is From Grandpa’s Heart.
I love the echoes of Dr. Seuss in your first poem that sadly portray the distortion of culture and civilization with the degrading of the English language and the disastrous propensity for confounding rather than improving. “Her World, No More,” is a wonderful soliloquy of love regained, perhaps late in life. Both are very well structured and rhymed with messages that are heartfelt.
Thank you for your kind words, Roy. My heart truly is in these two, more than in many others.
“But now if I tell him about all those things
There’s simply no end to the trouble it brings.”
I hope I’m misreading, but you know it’s serious when parents awoken before children.
I agree, it is a shame when children must conform to their parents’ ideologies, regardless of how far from center they may be. Thank you for reading my humble protest to the censorship of great works.
The first poem touches upon that typical gaslighting ploy of left-liberalism: screaming about the pressing need for diversity, while at the same time promoting a totalist conformism in behavior, thought and speech. The left has always hated difference and variety in culture, and when in power has always worked to crush it in favor of ideological sameness.
The second poem forces the reader to wonder about the speaker, and the silent addressee. My first thought was that it was a husband addressing his father-in-law, and describing the horrible control that the man had exercised over his daughter until the speaker rescued her. But then I thought that the speaker might be the woman’s second husband, talking to his wife’s former spouse. In either case, one man has tyrannized over a woman, and a second man (the speaker) has come along and given her a new life.
The poem touches upon something that is often overlooked. In some cases marriage is not simply about mutual attraction and love. It can also be about rescuing someone from the clutches of an evil relationship, either a family situation or a marital one.
As always, your comments touch me. You are perhaps one of the deepest poets I have ever had the pleasure of interacting with, and my respect for your talent and creativity is immense.
The second poem was inspired by my true love’s ex-husband. He will never be my friend, but I do owe him a lot, for finally setting her free to come rescue me…
I love your takeoff on this classic Dr. Seusss book. That story is an appropriate platform — especialy as illlustrated by the (re)appeaerance of Seuss’ milkman — for the very justified complaints of your narrator. It certainly is a bit much that “they” is now used as if it were singular; that people are supposed to be able to be diverse yet equal; and that we are supposedly not “allowed” to state simple facts about other people.
Thank you. “To Think That I Saw It on Mulberry Street” was always one of my favorite Dr. Seuss books, and the sad fact that the publishers caved in to the left-wing pressures and stopped publishing it is cruel, and this type of censorship borders on criminal.