A redundant retelling of a dream
When the roads first came here
and brought out bottles
we’d been saving for firstborns.
And when the tourists came through
we rejoice for easy money
And the rest of fable you know –
Of the destruction of all we’d known and loved,
of the corruption of our youth
and our loss of faith in humanity.
They held up mirrors and showed us ourselves
and we were as ugly as them.
Except one – except her.
She was the ugliest of all,
talking of love and adventure as she did,
of exploring inner and outer worlds,
of being free.
Now, half a world away
where we barely speak the language,
we open a bottle to our firstborn
and rejoice in our little world.