From An Island In The East Poem by James McLain

The young person slurps,
and the old people are due respect.
Often sometimes,
and some people whom come west.
Coming home to the east with tails,
of crying and abusive language.

More than a few and few we are alike.
To you I've heard and seen I speak.
Because of how I came they thought I was.
Unsociable the rising sun the surface white.
And the grave was dug before I came.
Upon the hearse,
each flowered garland held and yellow choke.
They hurry which I do not.
And ask me why I groan I heard the woman.
Each voice it makes me tremble.
But I passed by that,
and learned that western woman have better taste.