Over Here

This is a country where things are the other

way round: cars, titles on book spines.

This is a country where chocolate stings

in its sweetness, where bread lacks thick skin,

where tea bags are bought in bulk.

This is a country that warns:

strong comic violence, brief nudity,

one instance of swearing.

This is a miniature country:

painted roundabouts mere acts of will,

tea-towel front gardens, stairs, suffocated –

but also film-set hamlets, with Tudor beams

and crowded parking on the cobbled lanes.

This is a country that eats

other countries on special streets, korma-scented.

This is a country that puns and rages on the same page.

This is a country that likes poetry

but can’t always spell.

 

Leonie Wanitzek