Changeling, The

It’s my indifference
That shows the difference.
Duty Officers have to chain me to my train seat.
I’m reluctant to be bound
for home.

They worry me back through time
and space to the land of slate skies,
and the sad child
left by the fair folk
in exchange for the real son.

I land awkwardly and conceal my wings
out of respect.
They are visible but not mentioned.

My mother gives me cake,
love and something in the tea
that makes me feel shame.

I look out to the manmade hills
of waste, imagine a glimpse of
my people flashing faster than flesh
through twisted trunks.

I see no human boy trailing their
glinting dust.

Maybe he had to move away as well.

Roddy Williams is originally from North Wales and now lives and works in London. His poetry has recently appeared in The Rialto, Fourteen, South Poetry, Obsessed with Pipework, Smiths Knoll and other magazines. He is a keen surrealist photographer and painter.