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.
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