Sub-Saharan Immigrants Poem by Robert Melliard
Sub-Saharan Immigrants
Sub-Saharan corpses sprawl on beaches
between Tarifa and Gibraltar,
while tourists go on soaking up the sun
and reading glossy magazines.
For Sub-Saharans, life and death are one.
The few who have survived the crossing
will try to sell fake watches and CDs.
Ignored, they'll drift around like ghosts -
unknown, unloved, unheard, unseen.
Tuesday, June 10, 2014
Topic(s) of this poem: immigration
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4/30/2024 8:27:01 AM # 1.0.0.1119
