It’ll take 500.

in cabins with twin bunks

It’s not a Cunard liner

No need to bring your trunks

There is no captain’s table

Nor cocktails on the deck

No space for any loungers

On this brutal prefab wreck

It’s a worry for the fire brigade

Whose natural concern

Is how to evacuate the inmates

Should it ignite, and burn

Did I say inmates? A Freudian slip

But this ain’t no five star luxury ship

Docked on the Dorset Riviera

Backed by cliffs of chalk and flint

It’s an accommodation facility

For the homeless, stateless, skint

A floating hostel of austerity 

Where those forced to embark

Are there for the temerity 

Of facing choices that were dark

 

It’ll take 500. 

Maybe more if they knock through some extra dorms

Lower ceilings, raise some floors

Abandon decent social norms

It’s not a prison facility 

Though security’s enforced

To maintain stability

By UK Border Force

The kitchen has been supervised

By Jenrick and Suella

There’s porridge for all inmates

Topped with legionella

More excursion trips are planned

For aspiring asylum seekers

To Ascension Island

The prospect just gets bleaker. 

 

The sea almost consumed me

In my hope to reach this land

And now I must live on the sea

And on the sea I stand.