A JAMAICAN IN LONDON
A JAMAICAN IN LONDON
In the dim light hours of the morning
Awaken from his bed without warning
Men in fatigue surround his campsite
A voice shouted at him who are you, Sir
His thoughts were racing his heart throbbing
People running naked into the dawning
In his face, three beams of light shone
By now he is half awake, ready to fight
Immigration the voice said show papers
With a sigh of relief in an angry tone he spoke
Out in the streets a cardboard box home
No shoes on my feet barely dress naked
Papers you ask what a joke mate crazy
Hands behind your back another voice says
Bands of steel clasped my wrist and took me away
A crowded terminal filled with illegals stowaway
One by one they separate each bag and tag them
Place in detention was waiting not for redemption
Jubilation from starvation on a Los Angeles street
A free ride to redemption was my greatest desire
Calmly he spoke yes Sirs send me back to England
Too long have I roamed let me smell the River Thames
He was shipped to Glasgow and let loose in Brighton
A free ride from the dirty street of LA to London England
After all, he had the last laugh given a free ride to salvation
K.G.L. for Poetry Oasis
