(A view on the Calais malaise).
From an oppressive barren heat
into our unseasonal northern chill
they blindly come, filthy
on their camino of avarice
to scurry around Coquelles,
gnawing, ripping, squabbling
at the flimsy token barrier,
easily breached
their thin eyes desperate, cold
play a tormenting game
each night, a joyless lotto
high stakes, win big, what chance?
© Graham Sherwood 07/2015
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