As we approach the most divisive general election I can remember, here is a poem courtesy of The Guardian which reminds one just how artificial and nonsensical physical barriers are between nations
The Frontier
At the frontier the long train slows to a stop:
small men in uniform drift down the corridor,
thumb passports, or withdraw for consultation;
the customs officers chalk the bags and leave us to shut them.
We pass here into another allegiance,
expect new postage stamps, new prices, manifestos,
and brace ourselves for the change. But the landscape does not alter;
we had already entered these mountains an hour ago.
The Frontier by John Hewitt Both poems from John Hewitt: Selected Poems (eds Michael Longley and Frank Ormsby), Blackstaff Press, 2007
