Poem by Pete Crowther
Like hens we humans love to turn upon
And peck the weakest birds within the roost,
It makes us feel a common bond of warm
Togetherness, where we enjoy a sense
Of moral worth and sinners get their just
Deserts. Sometimes the pack’s attention’s caught
By differences of race or colour, such
Is enough to make them targets for attack.
Sometimes it is belief or politics
That singles out the hunter’s prey, just think
Of Salem, Massachusetts, and the zeal
With which the City Fathers sought out witches
Or Senator McCarthy’s reign of terror,
And over here the bloody Gordon Riots
When Roman Catholics were hunted down.
Today’s no different, we have not improved,
The targets now are Blacks or Pakistanis,
Asylum seekers, smokers, single mums—
Our species loves to hate, and what is more,
As Murdoch knows, it sells the tabloid papers.
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