On Sangatte by Angela E Brooks

This green and pleasant land of riches

Draws the poorest to its shores

Who then discover the greatest lie,

There’s no welcome and the gates

Of this nirvana are closed, the promises

Of last years politics turned to dust.

So, disaffected and unwanted they huddle

These shabby masses, claiming our green spaces,

Ungrateful for the little they are given, wanting more.

Their ways are not our Western ways.

We turn our heads and close our eyes

Until the simmering rages spill over

And who is right and who is wrong becomes

Impossible to know.

Once more we push back, against the tides

Calling for our soldiers, armed to the teeth, to

Fight men armed with sticks and stones, until

Driven back, repulsed, repelled, they sail the seas,

Walk the roads, traverse the mountains – they are unstoppable,

This ragged mass of human flotsam, searching for the humanity

We appear to have lost.

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