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The Illegals

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The Illegals by Larkin

They congregate on the freeway off-ramps.
They pick strawberries.
They clean apartments and hotel rooms.

They say, these illegal are fucking everything up.
Our kids can’t even get jobs at McDonalds.

Does McDonalds really pay?
Would your kids really work there?

These criminals, as they are called, sleep out in the open on cold nights.
Men women and little children stoop down all day long to pick your strawberries. I have seen them.
Go ahead, find a super market where none of the beautiful produce you eat or throw out, hasn’t been picked by some illegal.

You say, they don’t pay taxes!
What employer pays a gross earning pay check?
If they don’t, where does their tax money go?

No one stops to see these illegals.
No one looks at them up close.
These poor people are Native Americans.
They are decedents of the murdered millions.
Who but they belongs here more than they do?

The Minute Men, angry and resentful. Don’t you remember the dust bowl?
Don’t you remember your grandparents moved off the land by bankers?
How are these poor immigrants different than you?

White Americans have become spoiled, mean and vindictive.
To quote George Bush the first, “If you don’t think we have enough prisons, we’ll build them.” and so they have.

This is a political trick. It is to distract you from their own malfeasance.

It is scapegoating and history tells us that further down the road you will find, genocide.

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