When Blunkett starts to talk like Enoch Powell

I think of Harold Wilson's statue in Huddersfield Station

Caught striding forward, gripping his pipe in his pocket,

Hair blowing in the wind.

could we but turn that bronze

To flesh I would have asked him to meet the two

Asylum-seekers I met in Huddersfield's main street

And asked directions from. 'We are Iranian refugees',

They stammered apologetically. 'Then welcome to this country.'

I said as we shook hands, their smiles like the sun.