The Sentinel

Not like the mighty woman with a torch,
who stood like a beacon of liberty and freedom,
now stands a craven, jackbooted coward,
to welcome those with stuffed purses,
pale of skin and supplicant.

Not for us, the sombre sentinel cries,
the homeless and their vacant eyes,
nor those who are hounded by repression,
the teeming mass of shadowed complexion,
only influence, degrees and currency are welcome.