The Wall
By Kathryn Guille

We live by tunneling for we are the people buried alive. – Anne Carson

Mexican flags wave near the Aberdeenshire
golf course. they know about
cities built upon sealed plague,
bones and branches of child’s toys.
we know about cites built on slave cemeteries
we walk the high rise rebuilt super vamp medieval
Nigel Farage received no outside light
as the elevator is not glass. all the better.
the campaign promise in my mind’s eye
was the grafitied colorful wreckage
in Berlin, but restacked, the half-assed
work of a puzzle completer with crazy
glue. it is not illegal to fly the Confederate
Flag in Berlin
                          The Wall
may be partially fence. picket, I hope,
I’ve a neighborly appreciation for
recycling: HATE HAS NO PLACE
Canada is currently accepting applications,
but be warned, they want em young
and able to pass the English test, the Queen’s English.
where would you go?
my frightened friend answers
back to Spain, his name, one of the last
on the Expulsion list.

Kathryn Guille is an American writer living in Limerick City, Ireland. She is the 2016 winner of the Cuirt International New Writing Award in poetry. Kathryn’s poems have appeared in Skylight, Then and Now, A 1916 Anthology and Sextet 2, an anthology of Limerick based poets. Kathryn holds an MFA in Creative Writing from The City College of New York.