I feel a presence as I clean my shoes,
Alone, yet watched, I am not on my own.
On my radio I hear dreadful news,
Rwanda bound refugees plane now flown.
Such immorality, beyond compare,
Easily forced on already war torn,
Herded airborne cattle into despair,
There to wonder why they were ever born.
Earnestly politicians justify
Their sad actions with fake humility.
The more I listen the sooner I cry,
As terror fills the space beyond pity.
A beak taps window, I look up from shoes,
Brown thrush blinks at me, free to fly, to choose.

Harry Rogers in the Red Bedroom, 14th June 2022.