In the Footsteps of So Many Others

I'd be the well-heeled refugee, another alien
Face on the streets that aren't really yours anymore.
Paris is maintained by Parisians, but in the
Possession of everyone else. I can say, “merci.”
That's all I know, but your language isn't
That useful now. I hear English and German
And Chinese, not French. There are hordes
Speaking Arabic just down the way.
You won't need to attend to me. I'll be okay
At a spare cafe table, a cheap glass of wine
And my tablet in front of me, one more
American helping himself to the pretentious
Preciousness you've earned yourselves.
Let me stay. I'll keep quiet. I'll pay
My respects, high-minded refugee, not
On the run from slaughter or famine,
But flying first-class from the corn-fed
Capitalist, fascist crassness which
Lies like a shroud on my land.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 70 times
Written on 2017-10-31 at 13:02

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