Gladys Taylor

Bon Chance
Every Day in Calais

You need it,
That wrinkled young man with yesterday’s pride
And washed-out memory of what
Used to be,
Seeking survival from you,
From me.

You need it,
The woman  whose soul
Is prised from her eyes
her baby dead at an empty breast,
No chance for the child – for the mother,
No rest.

You need it,
The child who rocks, tones, moans,
Crouched alone – she cannot reach
parents washed up
On a foreign beach.

You need it,
All of you, left to seek
Compassion   from those who will not see
Humanity is the refugee –
Is you,
Is me.



Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s