The town was Mauston,
Nowhere in scale to Boston,
With abundance of milk and snow,
And trucks that stopped to know,
A beauty with nature well mounted,
All eyes and ears easily counted.
A young black teenager in America,
A son of distant mother Africa,
A foreign exchange student,
With a heart and mind so prudent,
I came to learn about this world,
As well as share my distant world.
First day at school, at lunch feeling tense,
Trying hard for all to make sense,
A team of pretty high school beauties rolled by,
And a couple of times they said! Hi,
Hi Ed!, Hi ladies!, we traded highs to the utmost bore,
But clear as crystal, the ladies wanted more.
Then Martha, the brave and friendly, finally asked,
Can we touch your hair? She asked,
Why Not! So, they went for it, my afro was raided,
Back then it was a lot, so it never faded,
And all I had for lunch that day was,
And all I could hear in my ear was,
“It Feels like carpet”
“It feels like carpet”
Mauston High School, Wisconsin USA 1978
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