In Another Country

By the water that is not theirs to stand in tall birds jabber.
No one staring at the back of this crowd can fathom what
is so important that they must all busy themselves with it
here. The river swells with white cravats, gangly legs
unsure of their footing, but at home in their numbers.

Who was more startled - you? Them?
Turning a stone over in their garden
a lounging colony, now disgruntled
now with backs turned like a coat rack
now stomping off, half-remembering the way.

Liver-red faces with white handprints. Make do,
make do, is what the women say to the new
comers, the food parcels won’t come, make do.

When the lips pull away finally, thirst steadied, the bottle:
double-jointed, waist sucked in, shoulders dislocated, pops
back into shape, the lettering on the label bleaches slowly.