Fresh Off The Boat Poem by Mark Heathcote

What must it be like caught in the headlights
at New York's John F. Kennedy airport alone
it's not as though you'll be able to prize-fight
fistfights your way to the top 'hold the phone.'
The only Big Apple here is in your throat.

Now that you're feeling fresh off the boat
doubts are coming thick and fast
as nauseating as 13,000 bright yellow cabs,
oh, my lord, it is vast, how long will I last.
Crablike - scuttling with cases in either claw.

Looks like-I'm-back to my ingenuous wishing-
father was here to pick me up in his big bear paws.
Turn-me-around, pack me off back home.
'Hold-the-phone' I'm a grownup now aren't I.
Bring it on, Big Apple aren't-you just a tad overblown.