​Maybe if they had
beached themselves,
or gotten lost
in the doldrums
between starvation
and war,
or wound up anywhere
beside the ocean
instead of in it.
So much driftwood
washed up on a
Libyan shore.
Abandoned by purveyors
of misery,
Human Traffickers
Devoid of humanity
ruthless and cruel,
Summa cum laude graduates
of the
kill or be killed school.
Maybe if refugees
had oil,
rare metals,
or even chocolate,
maybe then we’d notice,
or at least pretend
to give a shit.
M. Zane McClellan
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