2015, summer, Berlin.
We collect our receipts in the ice-cream parlour
to reclaim the money.
The EU pays for our ice-cream, too.
Genoa, Italy.
At the harbour sit people from the TV.
Some have nothing,
some have pillowcases stuffed full.
Some are alone.
Refugees Welcome.

Later that year.
A friend and I are making our intermediate school certificate presentation
about the civil war in Syria.
The news reports tell not only of overcrowded boats,
but also of people who have “made it”.
And are now standing in queues.
For hours.
People talk about what will happen
when winter comes.
Whether people will freeze to death.
Then it goes on to football and lottery results.
“We’ll manage it.”

It continues with armchair arsonists and the AfD party.
At our school parents whose children are on the waiting list
are taking legal action against the “welcome class”.
A refugee boy who was supposed to graduate with us
is rejected by the school.
Refugees Welcome.