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.