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.