The New, New Colossus
Not like the border patrol agents of southwestern fame
With law behind them and enforcement before them
Here at our Rio-Grande washed, road less desert shall stand
A might yellow woman with gem spangled thigh-highs, whose flame
Is a ghostwritten autobiography and her name
Mother of Ivies. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome, her wild eyes command
The coyote routes that foreign NGOs frame
“Keep, Western nations, your privileged rules!” cries she
With broad toothed smile “Give me your unregistered, law breaking, your enabled poor”
Your future Dem voters registering and registering at every door
Send these, your iPhone carrying, previously deported to me
I know what to do do with them.