You think, bloody amazing, we’ve made it
and step onto English soil
groggy and stiff limbed from the flight.
But then there’s customs,
a maze of barriers, a human train
winding in and out, moving forward an inch,
my son lies on the floor and howls
if the twins come near him
my patience is frayed to the last thread.
But then, a guardian angel,
an official in a turban, directs us to the fast lane
‘families with children this way’
we almost run, embarrassed, leaving the rest behind.