Most pictures and words from Anthony C Murphy

Saturday, 21 January 2012


I wait in line
At airport security
Behind a hairy woman
Who frets over boot buckles
As two kids hang from her freckled arms
She is practised
Unlike the neophyte behind me
Smiling before his ordeal
Beerily benign
Within all this enforced authority
The youth does not care
He is on his way home from oblivion
And is not prepared
I watch a border guard
As my sundries trundle through
The x ray machine
She’s an old mother 
In her fifties and candled onto that seat
A grey seen it all head
And her body has soaked enough venom and produced enough puke
There are not to be any shocks
Nothing but the little incidents to take home and report
No more adventure for her
But intrigued
By the image of my bag
She had to ask
What’s inside? Open it!
It is only my dad
Now in a brown plastic urn
With a tatty bit of paper stuck on
To tell the date of death and such
The details
For that’s all he is
And she knows
She lets me go with good luck
 I walk through the white lights
Sick of duty free
Into arrivals
There are families with tears
And strain on their cheeks
Some expect presents
Some yawn
There are guys with suits and signs
They look at us
But we have no one to meet
Only a hole to fill

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