The innkeepers are waiting
their flags are on display:
sharp-edged stars and
stripes like blood and bone;
they are waiting for the visitors
to come.
Hand to brow, megaphones
in hand, they stare
across the ocean
they are waiting
for the visitors
to come.
When the boats approach the shore,
tired arms reaching out
battered, broken, devastation
written on their hearts
the innkeepers retreat,
turn out the lights and bolt the doors
hang the signs:
No Vacancy
there is no shelter here
for the weary and the lost
there is no solace here
for the visitors
who’ve come.
