In the beginning, Black Bill dressed like my grandfather,
Like a simple man from the provinces,
Which made the story my family would tell
Over and over all the more engaging,
About how Black Bill bought his mansion
In Grosse Pointe, Michigan.
When the builder dismissed him as a peasant,
He pulled out a large down payment in cash,
Leaving the builder blinking at that fat wad of bills.
That was how they interpreted the American dream.
It didn’t matter how you got there, only that you did.
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Salvatore Ala 
What a collection (a slew?) of poems, Sal. They went straight to my heart. Any chance you will publish a broadsheet, or maybe
even a book someday? You certainly have a wide and numerous collection of beauties just waiting for the world to read.
Best Always,
Sharon.
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Thanks Sharon, your comment went straight to my heart. No, this is it. I’m done with publishing.
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