TRAVEL

We are travelling again my son and I

And he is so far from home,

Nor do either of us speak the language

Or understand the money

Though he holds the coins in his small fist

And the air has turned colder and the sky

Gone strange, the breath of phantoms

Plagues me day and night; and I am leaving behind

Bad plans, bad relations, I have been travelling half my life.

But by now they have discovered I am not so easy to defeat;

The slightest move against me will make me stop and fight

Rear-guard action, blowing dams and bridges,

Before continuing on.

Again there is this noise of evening,

The baggage picked up at the airport

Is like shouldering the weight of the thousand lost promises;

But now with my little son in my arms, we are in Amsterdam or Madrid,

And I think perhaps here is where

It is all going to be better.