041522

Lately, Liberty

They never made it past the checkpoint,
Wind carried off their shallow prints,
Rag dolls impaled on cactus spines
Were all we ever found to mark
That folk had passed this way,
A row of cages rusting in the sand
Stood in for immigrants sent back,
Where murder lay in wait.
No huddled masses wanted here,
Only monied immigrants are welcome now,
Of plutocrats we seem to feel a lack,
Alas, poor fellows, they can’t find
Servants to answer to their idle whims;
Robot servitors, alas, are déclassé.