last memory of london

Heathrow, Gate 21

“I cursed them in Greek, Italian and English
but they would not listen.”
She was returning to Belgrade with lotions
and body sprays for her Aunty,
who must have been ancient.
These too-large bottles of liquid
had been confiscated at the gate.
“Five years since I been,” she weeped.
“Everything has changed. They take.
I say, ‘You write down who they for,’
But they say it not their problem.”
As a compromise, she purchased two bottles of whiskey
and a carton of Camels at the duty-free shop
beyond the search area.
But Aunty’d been promised Nivea cream
and might not appreciate the effort.