Liberty

The Emma Lazarus Poem:  Give me your tired, your poor.  Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free.  The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.  Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me.  I lift my lamp beside the golden door.

How it’s interpreted by self-described “good Americans” and “Christians”:  Keep your tired and your poor.  Keep your muddled asses and don’t even think about breathing our air.  Let’s get this straight.  Your shores are teeming because we don’t want you.  We have our own homeless or so we’ve been told.  We don’t see them.  That’s all we NEED in this country – more wretched refuse here taking our jobs.  We’re turning off the lamp, people – trick or treat is over.  Stay in your own country.

Oh — and about that door?  We’ve melted it down and we’re selling commemorative coins.  Have a nice day.