The boy, he sits – I notice how he’s grey
My kids are being difficult again
He’s dry, all caked in wall from war’s new way
My kids are yelling, fighting in their den
They pulled him from the rubble here to sit
My children make this noise I cannot stand
A living ghost across the world transmits
My children keep on getting out of hand
He’s there because of them, because of us
My babies all say sorry, make amends
He lifts his hand to wipe away the pus
My babies need to stay this way – be friends.
The grey boy sits his life down on a chair
I look at him and see my own sat there.