Monday, 10 March 2014

On the plane to Marrakesh, a

nine month old in nappies
played at peek-a-boo
reached out stubby fingers
wanted stranger touch.

Words were far beyond him,
contact made by palms
slapping all the tourists
getting fingers on.

We had sat in silence
‘til this terrorist
came upon our handsets
broke into our souls.

1 comment:

  1. Enjoyed this poem, very topical of today and the way the world is now.