Shittu Fowora

Improbable Refuge

those pious ones sealed their borders,
closed their holy books,
closed their hearts
bolted their doors
and shut their eyes at
the pixels of the boy washed off
to the shoreline
left off in the sand
to sniff water to his fill

in a time when the world ran deep
with an unkind kind of oil

these ones, little ones escaping home,
escaping the songs of guns,
escaping the gongs of war,
whished  through the blast of sand
and shells
washed through surf and sea to shore,
arrive – lost at sea,
deep sighing at the sight of their rescuer:
a trafficker of hapless humans
at Calais, in rickety ferryboat,
arms spread, smiling,
“Bienvenue mes garçons, de bons garçons”

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