February 27, 2017 Poetry , POETRY / FICTION

Carlo Allegri/Reuters



Lianne Kamp



America First



I see them most days – grouped across

the street from Home Depot – carrying

nothing but the weight of their coats –

their solid short statured bodies line the

rock walls waiting for what they have come

to recognize as opportunity


today is a cold day – their conversations

drift in puffs of white air around the

brown skin of their faces mostly smiling –

I want to know what words they pass

the time with – where they go if the

truck never comes – will they eat lunch –

will their families?


I see him too now most days – his

mouth forming that unnatural O perfect

for blowing smoke rings to give shape

and shadow to words that have no substance –

but hover around his pale face –

a smokescreen of fear


and he is determined to weed them out –

these solid short statured immigrant workers –

these rapists and drug dealers – send them back –

build a wall to cage them where they belong –

as if it was always

our America first












Lianne Kamp

I came to Boston many years ago to write poetry.  Although I never abandoned poetry altogether, life had different plans for me. I have rediscovered the importance of writing and over the last year have been published in a number of Prolific Press journals. Mainly, I write poetry to make my world more panoramic by watching it more closely.


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