Aylan

I wrap his body

In the finest tabloid paper and

Tie quality strings

With tight little knots

What else can I do with

My celebrated son

But send him to your better world

Filled with food, shelter and toys

I whisper a last goodbye

As I place him on postal scale

Weighing him heavy against

The price of hope

But we both know

He’ll grow cold this Christmas

Under plastic needle trees

With their fake magic dreams