Kids run around small tents
catching sunshine
among fluttering canvas
parents watch
their anxious knots
gathering tighter
beneath a belt
of razor wire
coiled and cold
one metal gate
closed
locked in
locked out
shut up
stuck
in a cul de sac
where mulberry trees
make frames for
men to hang
their final protest
and the man with the cold heart
in the black suit
says: ‘Do not come here’.
While we struggle
only
to find words to say
this same story
again
in some different way.
reubenwoolley 