Immigration.

IMMIGRATION

   Shut the door, they're coming in the windows;
      Pull the shades, they're banging at the door.
   In the back, the garden's full of pickers
      As the dog, hoarse, gives that lot what for.
   Mr. Bush, with one eye on November
      While, walleyed, one bats at Senor Fox,
   Stiff-arms Mom--still screaming from the pantry,
      "Call the cops! They're in my hollyhocks."

--W. H. VON DREELE