New blood spills from the aeroplane

bouncing on the runway like spring rain.

Passport waving out-thrust arm

fancy shoes pointed West

Gene Kelly, video obsessed

dancing peasant with the happiness gene.

Tie straight, collar clean

mad for the chance to twirl his cane

at girls in some teeming town

Sun-parched backwoodsman mad for rain.

 

Radio waves from some man-made star

scan the graves on his ancestral hill

blaspheme their ancient gods but thrill

some restless, misplaced entrepreneur.

Economic migrant, refugee

Song of Myself, if I could just break free.

Dodging fangs on snaking queues

ruffling official smoothed-down hairs

this hyperactive candle-stick man

melts into his promised land.

 

Through a gap in the teeth of an ugly regime

springs a frightened woman with a blackened name.

Fleeing violent tribal clones

in a howling saliva storm she grips 

her baby’s hand. And clutching straws

of sleazy chaperones, she drags

her aching limbs to the borderline.

But her mad-eyed preacher snakes in too 

leering a smile at any fool who

will let their very nemesis through.