The New Collosus

Not like the brazen hulk of China’s fame,
Weathered fingers stretching through all its land
Here at river’s crossing, this wall will stand
A concrete and steel monument of shame

A prison not just for those who here came
Seeking life better than from that escaped;
But also for those whose broke hearts are caped
In endless cycles of colored-skin con-games

“Keep you, your ancient people brown,” it screams
With boisterous pomp, “Give me your white and pure
Your blessed beauties skin the shades of creams
Keep your filthy brown south of the Rio shore
Virgin’s blush rose red want we north those streams
For else we out the lamp and close our door.”