Look. What do you see?
Aliens or children?
Illegals or people?
Is there a difference?
You say go home
but what is home?
Is home a one roomed “house”
with scrap metal for walls
holes in the windows
insufficient plumbing.
is it the street corner where
Alan sells bananas and avocados
to pay bills to have heat?
Do you call that home?
Memories of children
reaching up with frail hands
asking for prayer
because dad can’t pay the bills.
asking for prayer
because grandma is sick
and they can’t afford
one hospital visit.
Memories of walking
through streets muddied
from rain
the garbage slides with the mud
only to reveal another
layer of garbage beneath.
A smell that makes you cringe.
A dog limps down the street
with half a paw.
Voices crying out
to be heard.
People crying out
to be loved.
Is that home?
Is that what they left behind,
searching for a new home
and finding expected hostility?
Can we find room
for our uninvited guests?
Or will we push them away?