The Mayflower And What Became Of It Poem by Concetta Stoto

The sickness came with them so without lifting a musket
they destroyed the people who greeted them on the shoreline.
Because of this we gather every November
To commemorate their huge success.
There's a parade in NYC with gargantuan balloons
And football games
And the mass slaughter of poultry.
There are themed table settings on magazine covers.
Family patriarchs take the first stab at the dead bird.
Everyone else struggles with their failures, bad timing,
And general low self-esteem.
Mom's hair is perfect.
The rest of us who arrived centuries later aboard steamers
And having survived amoebic dysentery
And who had to have English names
in order to be admitted into public school
Kind of watch from the sidelines,
In the margins,
Because we know melting pot
means turning into something we are not.