They carried a plague on their fingers
when they went to seek gold and sell guns
took a ruler and pen to a map
birthed nations by caesarean
sliced human terrain in hot places where
their germs settled into the hot skin
and they returned thinking
their hands were clean
only the sores on their palms were
hidden under the things they grasped
They took back their queen and flag but
the disease was marrow-deep
fed by fictions of our happiness
ads for things they cannot possess
because they are working in the factories that make them
films with white heroes and brown villains
until some took the bait offered
by canapé waitresses at arms fairs
grinning bankers offering loans to pay for it all
and one surgically created side
was pitted against another
so the wound never heals
And the sickness we gave them never left us
the pockmarks on our diseased body
are hollows in the wet sand
along the outline of our nation on the map
And we decry their assault on our fortress
calling their desperation
greed
€1,500 to board a lethally overcrowded boat
invasion
the desire for a safe home and enough food
threat
And while the borders grow metal spikes
develop a rash of guard dogs
ossify into concrete walls
a man and his wife
hold hands each night
and try to leap onto a train
travelling fast underwater
until they reach the promised land
or die
Update: if you are London today (September 10th) head down to ExCel (Custom House or Prince Regent on the DLR) to join the Stop the Arms Fairs’s Conference at the Gates, aimed at disrupting as much as possible the world largest arms fair: