How shall i recognise you?

When you do come,
after crossing the oceans,
how shall I greet you?

How shall I recognise you?
On the airport,
among the myriad faces,
the cafes, the hustle,
the glint of greeting somewhere,
the frantic search somewhere else?

(Dear reader,
you are wrong to think that.)
Because this is 17 September,1974.
No mobile phones, no emails.

Just some letters,
hastily written,
the pen bearing your brunt.

No telephone calls either
for I never had a home
nor telephone.

Just some letters
how shall I feel your presence?

I know,
America has changed your handwriting.

But, I shall wait,
till the Boeing slides in the hangar
Till another Boeing
comes from London,
I shall wait, even if,
America has
changed your face.