Written on Saturday

I stand away from you,
Not beside you,
Along Europe’s southerly
Mirrored view.

Families shoved off,
Hull-huddled, in fear:
Life jackets, loose-strapped,
By a profiteer.

Twenty-hours out,
And spewed vomit is rife;
You pray this will end
In a better life.

There is no one God,
Of any one faith,
Who will guide this craft
To any one place.

Your loved son is gone,
Drowned, surf-rolled ashore,
His body washed-up,
He travels no more.

When we look to blame
For these boat-choked seas,
It is we who create
This misery.

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