They build the airports that deport them
The roads on which they die
The condos we take refuge in
The hospitals in which we lie.
They guard our politicians in their palaces
Clean the streets we think we own
Change the bedpans beneath our mattresses
Cry on prepaid mobile phones.
We were once them, twice removed
By kindness of fate and time
Our grandparents were migrants too
Which today does seem a crime.