As he stands in the airport queue,
Thumbing through his
Little book of stamps, seals and bio-metric signatures

That proclaims his nativity
From such and such a land,
And marks his appearance
As of such and such a height
With such and such a visible mark on his face,
Of such and such parentage …

He knows that none of it matters
As he stands knocking at the gates of a country

For the furrows on his brow
And his near-empty wallet
Have condemned him to
Remain
A citizen of the united nations of migrants