ASYLUM

Precariously,

At the very edge

Of a fisherman’s jetty,

Jutting out,

Like a wooden tongue,

From the bank

And its planked,

Wheelchair ready,

Walkway,

He stands,

Balanced

Between earth and water,

Thinking Mother tongue,

Speaking English

To ducks,

Migrants

Flocking out

From Siberian inclemency,

Greedy for crumbs

Not words

Which he scatters freely,

Doubting

They’d be quite so eager

If the bag he carries

Was for game

Rather

Than bread.

 

Dave Alton