By Steve Pottinger
Leading by example, Shabana
is there, on Dover beach.
Waiting. Making sure the camera
gets her good side, hair glinting
in the morning light. Looking
resolute in profile for the socials.
The poor, tired, huddled stumble
from the dinghy, and she pats them
down, relieves them of jewellery
sewn into pockets, hidden in cavities.
If you don’t like this, she snarls,
you won’t like what’s coming next.
Pliers in hand, she’s hunting mouths
for gold fillings, diamonds, whatever
can be pawned. Lets her goons
push the homeless, tempest-tost
on toward the waiting camp.
Strides back to her limousine.
Tells the audience It’s this or extremists.
Sees her future rising. Bright as a sun.
