Foreigner

A poem

Fierce pains sharked through his arm.
Pietro Bornorquod rent air and ears,

skeltered fatly through narrowing lift-doors,
with desperado gusto of weary traveller.

Struck in drop by clanging door,
suitcase thudded to resquiescat;

strain removed from bargain locks,
discharged unwashed contents.

Some bovine-standers
stiffened British upper lips;

others, less patriotic, betrayed
national wrapping:

blinked round, still chewing cud,
sniggered, raised eyes almighty-wards.

Lift started ascent
with fat squeak, thud

and spill evolving
amorphously into huge anal bend

thrust malodorously into faces;
into phonemes of foreign distress;

into tumble of bent man’s
personal effects from jacket pocket:

wallet, passport, papers,
dirty postcards and so on,

enough for someone to think
he was ‘effin asking for it.