I see an acid-washed Emma Lazarus
at the base of a weeping statue
of a lady in distress
she wields a rolling pin
that flattens a pasty white dough
pushing out, popping errant bubbles
of brown and black and yellow
scattered by her tears
she watches helplessly
as children tumble backward
arms flailing
or handcuffed
palms pressed together
in supplication
new scribbles overlay that iconic poetry
messages of judgment, censure
nationalism, generalization
advertising only white space
the awful blankness on a statuary base
spawns a dead, negative void
a fresh meme for the world-weary
resurrecting the old order
©Elizabeth Robin