But where shall we go to-day, my dear, but where shall we go to-day?
We who watch the television and not a war
so much, do not understand how, there, outside
our lounge rooms, people unwillingly must leave
their homes, unsure –
chancing their families to criminals to provide
safe passage in unsound boats towards
an uncertain welcome
in a vague destination, rumour says is free.
Hope that this is the case becomes a sort of income,
to buy a buoyant mettle against the worst of open sea.
No passengers knew they’d be queue jumpers, though.
Nor did it occur that they’d be the subject of debate –
human beings detained by mandatory politics,
the human cargo
of words of indefinite expansion: while we’ll casually
poll their human fate.
And yet what is illicit in wanting this
democratic somewhere?
And what dignity of ours isn’t worthy enough to share?
Ben Hession.
