The Next Colossus
Not like the copper goddess of old world fame
with open arms outstretched from land to land:
here at the Rio Grande a floating barbed barrier stands.
A looming shadow engulfs hope's torch, the flame
extinguished in detention cells; and his name
Smotherer of Exiles. From his closed hand
flows no welcome light; his fierce tongue commands
our air and harbors closed (without a moral frame).
"Keep, shithole countries, your criminals and rapists!" cries he,
with frothing lips. "Remove these tired, these poor,
these stinking masses—I can't breathe!—don't free
this teeming wretched refuse, deport them from my shore!
Send them, these dark animals, away from me!"
he growls, and lowers the bar across the iron door.
By M. Benjamin Thorne
Biography:
M. Benjamin Thorne is an Associate Professor of Modern European History at Wingate University. Possessed of a lifelong love of history and poetry, he is interested in exploring the synergy between the two. His poems appear or are forthcoming in Topical Poetry, The New Verse News, The Savannah Literary Journal, and The Main Street Rag. He lives and sometimes sleeps in Charlotte, NC.
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