I’m writing this to inform you
my client has intent to sue
for whiplash, which she got that day.
That’s how fast she looked away from the sight of your sad plight.

Look!
What’s that?
Look over there!
She thought she saw a millionaire
mattering much more than you
who swung so swiftly into view,
She turned to see, as I explained,
And that is how her neck got strained.

What’s that you say? You’ve nothing left?
You’re penniless and quite bereft?
You’ve lost your home, your parents, more?
Persecution, torture, war?

You think that stops her wish to sue?
There’s still stuff she can take from you:
She’ll take your hopes, your right to be,
Your dreams and your humanity;
Wipe your story, mute your voice,
Remove your right to make a choice.

She’ll hang this label round your neck:
Vagrant
Migrant
No-good schmeck
Once this label’s been applied
Will she then be satisfied?

Nobody will see your face
You’ll find no welcome any place
Your life will be but misery:
Migrant, then, not refugee.

Off you go
Reviled
Confined
Out of sight and out of mind.