Written On Sunday

We will now stand scared,
because of you:
Cursing Europe’s
unlocked sea-view.

You crossed ‘our’ sea
in hull-huddled fear,
life-jacket-strapped
by a profiteer.

Twenty-hours out,
and vomit was rife,
you prayed this ended
with a better life.

There is no god,
of any one faith,
who guided your craft,
to any one place.

Your loved son was drowned,
soft-washed ashore,
his body stiff,
he travels no more.

When we look to blame,
for these boat-choked seas,
it’s we who create
your miseries.