because they are forced
They did not choose
to have bombs dropping on their door
They do no want
to live on a hostile foreign shore.
with what is precious
in aching arms
frightened children crying for food
They would rather
be anywhere than in their homes.
casually watch them
like swarming ants
afraid to share our warm comforts;
“not my problem!”
forgetting the words etched offshore:
“Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!” cries she
With silent lips. “Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”
The words reshaped for our store-time romp
and shopping trips “Give me your deals, and more,
We’re huddled shoppers yearning for cheap goods,
Those wretched products imported from foreign shore.
Send these, consumers, tempest-tost to shop,
We have greeters beside the exit door!”
in small leaky boats
hungry and cold
while we indulge in thankful feast;
“turn off Fox news!”
pass the only turkey that matters.
the harbors and gates
in shopping malls and big-box stores
for black Friday
and the best prices of the year.
for better lives and
the warm silence
of landing in a safe harbor
for Friday prayers
without any bullets and blood.
loud thanks for our own
free delivery with each purchase
filling our homes
with dreams we never knew we needed.