poetry
logan airport
waiting, always waiting
in this place guarded by boys
with fuzz on their cheeks
as night descends and city-stars glow
on this sad old place
full of lives in transit
and now in war
infants mimicking the boys in green
ready to die for their country
but are they ready to live?
this is my first time in Scotland as a visitor
no weeping this time
there’s been enough weeping this year
and now the old routine again
same as always
like a wiccan ritual, predictable and slow
but with a certain power to it
same old music
time is a spiral again
as I gaze at these old unfamiliar walls
always a stranger but always at home
floating on the wind I’m never alone
here is the romance of the gypsy life
calm before the pain
thrill of the unknown
yet I revist the familiar
rig says I need a vice
my vice is nostalgia
nostalgia for a life I’ve never known
the little girl with a british accent
talking about harry potter
asking for mayonaise on her fries
the people look as I pass
and I smile
remembering my delight months ago
in the smiles of strangers
promises aren’t so easy to keep on the outside
but maybe they’re more important
I keep thinking I see a glimpse of a familiar face
impossible, a thousand worlds away
reminds me of how we’re really the same
in the end