Dunkirk

The waves smashing, men screaming, planes screeching,
an old man beckons to me.
His small boat almost flying in the waves,
this man is a normal man, not a solider.
He’s out of the boat now, wading towards me, this man in his eighties,
who travelled one hundred and two kilometres at least
to save at most four men
of the almost four hundred thousand trapped here.
He drags me to the boat, tears a strip off his sleeve
and starts to cover the bullet wound on my leg.
He starts the boat, the beach is over the horizon.
Then I hear it, the screeching - a German dive bomber.
The plane fires, it misses me.  
The old man's limp hand rests on the throttle.
The plane disappears as quickly as it appeared.
Lost and afraid, I spot a bird and follow.
Beautiful English flag, waving on top of a British port.
The old man gave me the boat and his life.
Nature gave me the map and saved mine.