As many times as I twist his damned throat he breathes.

Immigration R.S.V.P.

Immigration R.S.V.P.

The lemons you suck are from Spain,

And the orange you drink’s from South Africa.

Shoes you wear are made in Pakistan,

And your oil is from Saudi Arabia.

You import your petrol from the Gulf States,

And your toys are made in Taiwan.

Your coffee they send from Colombia,

And your cars are driven from Japan.

You’ve flooded yourself with foreign good,

But foreigners you tell me are bad.

You say you’re afraid that they’ll overrun you,

But I’m afraid they already have.

Fair

Fair

I’ll rein in then chain you in.

I’ll slit, whip and rip into you,

Till all the cold as nitric acid resentment

Pours out of my black chest

Onto your purpled, curdled and blistered back.

I’ll whip you till you howl and crawl and cry.

I’ll pour salt in your mouth, rub shit in your eyes,

Pour vinegar into the canals of your ears.

I’ll verify all your superficial fears

I’ll wrench each finger from each joint

Till you get my point. Get it. Get my point!

I’ll drag you by the roots of your hair –

Make you wish you were no one from nowhere.

Show you what it’s like on the other side;

Show you what it’s like on the far side.

My knuckle-dusted fists will rein down,

Busting veins will curse,

Blow after bitter blow.

I’ll ask you how it feels,

I’m doing a thesis, I’d really like to know.

I’ll cut you a thousand times

While repeating the line,

‘Yes, I know, your blood is red like mine.’

I’ll rip out your wife’s fallopian tubes

’Cause there’s already too many of you.

I’ll make you drink your own hiss,

I’ll make you listen to this,

One, two, three thousand times and more,

Show you what it’s like to know the score.

I’ll sell drugs to your children,

Burn down your home,

Make you a stranger to your own.

And what’s more,

The moment you run on fire,

Through this poem, for the door,

Gasping for air and some sense of pride,

The same damned experience

Will be waiting for you outside.

I haven’t finished . . .

When it dawns that this scorning

Is sworn in and government-approved,

When the pattern starts to emerge,

And you’re on the verge of enlightenment or madness,

Immersed in the quiet violence of the day-to-day laws,

When you notice the holder of the mirror has claws

And the reflection provided is disfigured and displaced,

When your tongue splits on the bitter taste,

When your head implodes,

Because the text between the lines

Is so suffocating that you’ve started reading minds,

When all this is said and done and said and done,