We came from different backgrounds
Her rich. Me poor.
I was too young to know about the rigid class system.
She didn’t know about it either, being a teenager too.
Her father and mother hated me.
I was unworthy scum to them. She deserved better.
My family didn’t have enough stuff, working class nobodies.
My father was a janitor, my mother a maid in a hotel.
Though I was just a kid, I knew it all came down to stuff.
Who had the most of if. Who had the least of it.
And it was all just nonsense. Nothing more.
But I was a dreamer blind to the class system,
And so was she.
So we eloped when we turned 18,
And you’d have thought I’d committed a crime.
Her family blamed me for their daughter’s disobedience,
And the better life she deserved rather than being with me
Her father sent two burly thugs after me.
They beat me up and nearly killed me.
And demanded I sign divorce papers.
I resisted until they started torturing me.
The pain became so extreme dying would have been better.
The pain too much to bear, I finally gave in and took the bribe,
A job at another state far away with great pay,
And the promise I’d never contact her again.
I could have tried to fight it legally later,
But I couldn’t afford the justice
Her father’s legal team could.
And I never saw her again.
I stayed in my own class after that,
And married a good, decent woman,
Who like my mother is a hotel maid,
Whose family thought highly of me
And didn’t care about how much stuff I didn’t have.
Bob Boyd
