Hostages To Fortune Poem by Brian Taylor

At Heathrow,
there’s a picture window
to watch the iron birds go through their paces.
There are tears and tired faces,
goings, comings and leave taking;
and children in that limbo
which is neither sleep nor waking.

Why do those that love part so soon,
hurrying to give hostages to fortune?

There is a rustling of many languages
and a metallic voice which warns
of unattended baggage
(which may be destroyed)
of unattended cars
(which may be removed)
of unattended names
(which are wanted at Information) .