The wire in the detention center looked taut. To touch with
no give at all. In these brown hands is blood.
Too much in this situation we’ve seen. From the mouths
of the colonizer when they spoke of it never happening again.
We now bow our heads with fingers crossed behind our backs. 
We wish the past was there where it can be. Forgotten or at least
ignored. This will happen again. The screams will to
escape through the cages forever. This is the end game. I don’t care how. 
You were taught.