The Thing Is by Finola Scott

It’s not the net-surfing for cheap flights,

the hoarding of air miles.It’s not the shopping

around for good euro deals, or filling cases

with new clothes for a week’s break.

 

It’s not the duty free booze or the greed

-grabbed cigarettes, addiction on the cheap.

It’s not the stroll through Border Control,

waving maroon passports. No.

 

The thing that gets me is the five thousand

rescued last weekend, the six hundred drowned

this year. Numbers, more numbers. Eight hundred

euros for a privileged space in a boat

 

that darkness-drifts the Med. Good weather’s a lure

for tourists, a bonus to traffickers. The desperate

assured of safe passage in flimsy dingies. Cloud high,

seat belts are fastened ready for landing.

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