Immigrant

by Ida Cutler

"Cockney! Remittance girl!
You're in Canada, now.
You gotta talk like us, now,
Or we won't play with you.
Or dads are Native Sons."

I cried, Mother said,
"You may take your new ball to school."
She smiled a little.

"It sure bounces good.
Can we play with it?"

We play catch. I am
not very clever and they
like that. It is my ball
but they can advise me.
Smarter than I!
We get along. Finally.