With visas in hand, first class seating,
Them – across water, drowning, bleeding.

We recline – free wine and flight map screen.
We land, they drown; we sleep, they scream.

Passport pigment marks the game,
Stamped before you had a name.

We – the first class ticket crowd,
Soft lives, lifestyles loud and proud.

Erasmus grants, sun breaks, tax relief,
Living so soft it borders on theft.

They can’t even buy economy fare,
So they run, they break, they lie, they dare.
Laying their bones upon the track,
Praying some hands might pull them back.

Will they be guests we welcome with care,
Or baggage we drop in the open air?
Unnamed, left there
Cargo loss
At the next cold border cross,
Where warmth gets weighed against the cost.