The Refugee
A Refugee
He had been given a lift by a Lithuanian truck driver
to a little town in inland Norway where the winter
starts in September and is cold and unforgiven as its
inhabitants. The truck driver had given him money
for coffee, and cigarettes.
Not dressed for winter this swarthy unshaven Levant
perhaps Iraq, a flotsam from a war caused by black
stuff that came up from the earth and cursed them.
He walked into the railway station had a coffee but sat
So long a guard came and told him to leave.
In the waiting room, he felt strange, sweated needed air
went outside to cool down and collapsed, pneumonia and
lack of nutrition an ambulance arrived people gathered
Around, bloody refugees get everything for free someone
in the crowd murmured.
Copyright © Jan Oskar Hansen | Year Posted 2016
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