Freedom Poem by Leonard Dabydeen

Cold wind pushes against the van
as if it wants to test its silver coating
but I listen carefully to the whooshing sound
without complaining
no one will listen, anyway, except
my frozen ears like folded strips of bacon.
And as the wheels grind Main Street tarmac
a bird swings in a U-turn, swaying
with the ease and carefree arrogance
one bird wants to show our open world.
This is the freedom I choose
it belongs to me, let alone my van
and a black bird
whose place of abode is far from
the ceramic tiles and oak polished flooring
of my Egyptian sand living room.