Status

We don't know anybody's status.
Where in the world are they from? 

Did they come through the front door,

With all the necessary paperwork in order?

 

Are they black or yellow or red or 

Just not white like our founding fathers?

How can you question who once made us great

With ambition, courage, sacrifice, and hard work?

 

“Give me your tired, your poor,

Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,*

The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.

Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed, to me:

I lift my lamp beside the golden door.” 

 

We accepted them and we became

The greatest country in all the world.

But the times they have certainly changed 

And now we want to make America great again.

 

So just let them return home

And curse the fate they were born with.

We don’t need them to fulfill their hopes

While making this country better than ever.

 

We don’t want people who will work hard

And reinvigorate old crumbling neighborhoods.

Why do we need more people to pick our crops,

Prepare our foods and serve and clean up after us?

 

What is good about having dreamers study hard

And advance science, technology, and businesses?

Why do we need low unemployment and low inflation

Just like in the good old days we want to bring right back?

 

Our country can solve all its problems

By just closing all our doors to everybody.

Oh, we can do it all alone without any foreigners,

But what is everyone’s status and how did they get here?

 

 

*Quote on the Statue of Liberty, from the Emma Lazarus poem, “The New Colossus”

 

 

Copyright 2025, Charles A. Bruns

Lonely thoughts on a beach

When I last saw you

I thought I’d be back.

I didn’t think my good-bye

was so-long forever.

But here I sit on the beach,

looking beyond the cold ocean,

wondering where you are, 

how you’re doing,

if you still remember me.

I’m okay if you’re curious.

My studies were followed by jobs

and before you know it

I was practically American.

But I’m not quite all-American.

There’s no house with a white picket fence

or dogs running around a yard 

or a spouse with kids in my home.

Instead there are nights on WhatsApp,

Instagram, Facebook, Twitter,

with the TV on and bed unmade.

There are weekend days on the beach,

cold days, warm days, lonely days.

Yes, I got the education and career I wanted,

but I still don’t have you.

Will you be coming over any time soon?

Or should I came back for you?

Anyway, where are you?

copyright Charles A. Bruns, 2019

America

Mexicans,

Russians,

Asian Indians,

Cubans,

Eastern Europeans,

Italians,

Japanese,

Chinese,

Germans,

Irish,

Africans,

British,

Native Indians.

Muslims,

Hindus,

Jews,

Catholics,

Protestants.

Black eyes,

blue eyes,

brown eyes.

Short,

tall.

And everybody else,

including you and your family,

me and mine.

-- Charley Bruns, 2017

"America, where are you now

Don't you care about your sons and daughters

Don't you know we need you now

We can't fight alone against the monster"

-- "Monster/Suicide/America," Steppenwolf, 1969  

On May 17, 1947...

It was 70 years ago this week that the first of my family arrived in the U.S. The woman who would become my grandmother, Abuela Belen, was a widow and talented seamstress who came to the U.S. in search for a better life, like millions before and after her.

She tried, but could never master the English language like my mother did. She got most of her information from Spanish-language newspapers, magazines, radio and TV and her Spanish-speaking neighbors, friends and co-workers in New York. She cared about her new country, and regularly voted in elections.

She was one of the most inspirational people in my life, and a very loving sweet woman. And, she was a good American.