The Immigrant Poem by Herbert Nehrlich

Bubbles are troubles
said Mama Sarina.
And she looked at the stubbles
of the young Filipina,
who had come here to work
in the household to earn
a few thou' for the jerk
she had made her concern.
They were dreaming of living
in the US of A,
as this land was forgiving
and made all things okay.

So he picked up the phone
now to call his physician,
who would check out this clone
and then make a decision.
There were no boobs at all,
and the muscles were bulging
he would not take a fall
for a stranger indulging.
Immigration was picky
when it came to permission
and the ones with the tricky
old stories, just fishing
would be sent home to Mum
with a five dollar note
and a package of gum
that's all that she wrote.

In the end they discovered
that the girl was a man
that mascara had covered
a most masculine tan.
That his boobs were not real
but his schlong, though restrained
it was part of the deal
he eventually gained
his admission to settle
in the country of dreams,
like an old country nettle
he'd seduced, so it seems
the main broad who had power
to approve his request,
it was during lunch hour
that he'd kissed her in jest
as a joke, cool and strong
only little he knew
that it started a song,
as these kisses may do,
of melodious beauty
now entrancing her soul,
it was never a duty
but a pre-ordained role.

And today, immigration
has a head who is lenient
to the refugee nations,
who would find it convenient
to take over some regions
of the country they treasure,
when they pledge their allegiance
it's in a very big measure.