Neverland

I imagined myself a pirate;
a sea-conquering villain, instead of a hand I might have a hook.
I imagined sailing to - not Neverland -
but another place where they say
little boys can grow up.
There, they have the time to play
and they don't have to pine for the close of an
endless day.
Canons on pirate ships don't scare me;
They go BANG and a round shiny ball goes up through the air.
People know it's there. Not like the monsters
under our cars, in the streets,
who fight for the joy of inflicting defeat.
For this reason, I understand why
a shaking hand tugged me along
and parcelled me onto this boat.
We're all just trying to stay afloat.
Stay alive.
But an ocean presents a slight
challenge.
It's not like the stories,
but it might have a happy ending.
I'm told I might even make new friends:
that could work for me,
better than lurking in shadows and underneaths.
I could sleep for a while, once we
cross these thousands of miles.

But instead it's over before it began.
The ebb was too rough
and I just wasn't tough enough, a lousy pirate.
Fluttering down,
I don't know yet that in time I'll be spewed onto the sand.
I don't yet understand that
I'll be a martyr, a symbol, a "turning point".
In equal measure, my lifeless corpse will anoint and enrage
on page after page of tomorrow's litter.
It's enough to make you feel a
little bit bitter.
They'll question our motives,
my family's wealth,
my apparent good health is held up: evidence.
We had it okay,
we should have stayed, they say.
I'm clothed and fed and I've ended up dead.
Shame, clearly.
And such a worry that we very nearly ended up
joining those swarms, plagues.
Isn't it our sole intent  to cement
the image of your homeless and soldiers
sleeping under a park bench?
If I were a grown up,
or at least still alive,
I'd ask you why you think we fled..
to survive.
Tied ourselves to an unwelcoming vessel;
huddled but hoping
like limpets slipping off metal.
Even 'opportunists' know their limits.
If you live in a country with some kindness left in it,
you might remain in your home,
instead of washing up on a shingle beach,
a lost boy forever, on his way to Neverland,
alone.