The Refugee

He walks the corridor to his cabin—

pull-down bed, kitchenette, sofa,

a chair converts to sleeper for two.

Temperature dials, porter call

who promises to wake him in time.

Bright stars spill through the window,

constellations cluster around the room

as light's slim flickers pass through trees

while the wheels sing an iron lullaby—

clickety-clacking all night.

In sleep he drifts past fairy villages,

trees reaching with open arms

That's when the dream splintered—

grim guards banging batons against metal

clangor rattling Billy’s bones

Get out now! NOW! Loitering’s forbidden!