Taking Refuge

Here ends the life of a victimwashed up on an English shore.Placed two million and ninehe stood in a lineand behind him stood two million more.He had run through the ruins of MosulWith his wife from Allepo they fled.Through mine fields and shell holesand barefoot through hell holesthe feet of his baby, they bled.They crawled through the mud in the darkness,in nakedness hunger and pain.With his child on his backhe ducked from the flackbut for her he would do it again.And I watched on my screen at the horrorwhile Hungarians I thought like mestrung barbed wire in fencesand called it defencesthen laughed in hysterical glee.He walked two thousand miles across Europe,his wife and his child by his side,til they fell down exhaustedand there were accosted.His daughter just lay down and died.His wife rocked the dead child in mourningwhile the thieves stole the pennies they’d scraped.In his hunger and thirsthe struggled and cursed,held down while he watched his wife raped.They stood in the camp near to Calais.Though the danger they tried to ignore,til they got in a boattoo leaky to float -you do that when fleeing from war.The boat, it went down half way over.All forty-eight souls, they were lostin a craft built for ten- save for two wealthy menwho counted the cash not the cost.So come not to my nation, you hopeful.Though Jesus, it’s said that he saves,Dave said “Five thousand in -any more is a sinand Britannia, she still rules the waves.”Your suffering no longer moves us.And the sea, well your body it bloats.For in sheer desperationthe soul of my nationwas sold for a handful of votes.You’re dirty and smelly and foreign.Your skin’s not the colour of mine.So I’ll play on my i-phonewhile I cast the first stone -Be off with you - Get back in line.We’ve got enough problems I tell you,and we don’t care you’re all out of luck.So you think I’m a prick?You’re a bargaining chip.Piss off - ‘cos we don’t give a fuck.We’re tired of watching you suffer.It’s late and we’re heading for bed.Were those your last screams?Then get off of our screens -Cos frankly We’re glad that you’re dead.‍

Michael Forester