Penguins

They were sighted off the Dover coast,
drifting in towards the port;
their boat, a snapped-off block of ice,
melting slowly in the warmth. 

By the docks, a crowd had formed itself
and congealed into a mob.
Placards were thrust. A chant began.
GO BACK TO WHERE YOU’RE FROM! 

‘Don’t fall for it – they’re not displaced,’
declared a spokesman for the right.
‘They’re only here to take our jobs.
It’s as clear as black and white.’ 

‘Tragic,’ said the Home Secretary,
as she tried to hide her smirk.
‘We’d let them stay but here’s the rub –
they lack the paperwork.’ 

‘They’ll undermine our way of life,’
said a warning post on Twitter.
‘They stink of fish.’ ‘They’ll rape your wife.’
‘They got bombs beneath their flippers.’ 

“BUT WE HAVE NO HOME CLAIMS PENGUIN”,
The Sun had printed in disgust.
‘And whose fault’s THAT - except THEIR OWN?
What’s that to do with US?’ 

The ice had now completely gone.
The penguins battled through the foam,
swimming, swimming, from land to land,
searching for a home.


--Brian Bilston, pseudonymous "Poet Laureate of Twitter," posted online today.