Back from a week in France and posting again! I think this poem needs little explanation.
The immigrant adjusts his hat
Squints at the unfamiliar words
Tests the new land with his shoe
Some casual abuse
Is partly understood
The hat is wrong but not the shirt.
Wrapped in the now familiar streets and shops
Handling the hard language less well than he thinks
He seems to be at home
A diligent Roman
Following the new-found rules
But then a haunting tune, words said in drink,
Recall a half-remembered clouded place
That maybe never was
It’s hard to say
Easier to drive the thoughts away
Than enter that unbounded space.