Red Doors

Red,
doors.
Obligatory.
And some kind of marker,
to be worn.
Possessions taken
into state hands.

Or, in tent cities.
In the shadow of their bulldozers.
Kevlar clad fists,
fences and ditches.
Dogs.
Batons, gas.

Deportation.
Repatriation.
Transit camps,
cleared.
Trains and buses,
to other locations.

Variations.
On the same,
vile
premise.

The roar of people brutalised and displaced,
and history’s anguished howl
split every day and every night, in chorus.

It’s deafening.

Yet it’s still happening,
again.

image from www.independent.co.uk

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2 comments

  1. Stephen M Rees · January 27, 2016

    Good one James. As an ex-inhabitant of Cardiff, I was shocked to see my favourite city in The Guardian because Syrian refugees had been told to wear red armbands to get fed! The historical precedents are too obvious and shaming to mention! I understand that the task of looking after these refugees had been out sourced to a private company. It makes you want to weep! And we have the continuing farce of PP’s corrupt implosion to keep us open mouthed here too!

    Like

    • James · January 28, 2016

      Thanks Stephen! Yes, its hard to believe quite how quickly things seem to be descending at the moment, and how many dark reminders of the past seem to be rearing their heads without people taking notice. I suppose the thing to hold on to is that as everything starts to come apart we’ve got another opportunity to pull the rug from under the feet of the right wing – could be the last chance for a long while though

      Like

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