On the Border
by Bruce J. Berger
Children behind fences fight for room to breathe, line up to drink from the only
source of water, the toilet, overflowing.
Officials swear allegiance to their god
and people mocked as snowflakes are arrested
for trying to quench the thirst of the desperate.
Its called a dog pound, but our canine friends
are treated better.
Children in cages fall one on the other, crying for parents,
not understanding how theyve fallen into slavery.
We see only a sliver of this suffering, because
they bar the press, the cameras pushed away;
the truth would be fake news, anything that sounds like
concentration camps must be fake, no Hitler he,
the man in charge.
No diapers, multiple deaths from the flu, a three-year old caring
for his one-year old brother, separated from their parents
to protect them from trafficking? No lie is too great to spread.
No lie is too great to be believed by the cult
of worshippers. No comment from the thugs in charge
because of litigation. If we speak, what we say will be held
against us.
Conditions compared to torture facilities, and five-year-olds
with PTSD; 900 crammed into a space that should hold
no more than 125: six bodies slammed against each other
in space meant for one. Our holy government!
Oh great man brought to us by God Himself! Requests for medical help
rejected by the guards, the ones who call immigrants
names that cant be used on public media.
Theyre proud of the way they treat children, they say,
because it pays to be mean, whose fault is it anyway,
they ask, as if the children are guilty. But lets steal funds to build
a wall, and whoever dies, dies. The man in charge calls it a disaster,
but he doesnt mean his camps. He means that the disaster is a court ruling
that these children must be treated
with dignity.
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