by Michael Wynn (the author’s own translation from Norwegian)
Ulanbator-Bahamas there and back
a stupor, a hangover and we’re back on track
Noisy little brats, but still you smile,
into the johns to vomit quite a while.
“What are you doing in there so long?
You shit! You filth! You washed out beer-bong!”
Thanks I’m Norwegian, tired of my seat:
No dream, no slumber, just shivering heat.
Native tongues in outfits that are absurd
Mom, who’s the ugly man seated in third?
Landscapes and ruins roll on by,
while armed police check your passport for lies.
Wobbling flesh and double-chin,
Just sit there, sweetie, till the trains come in.
Rocking transport and sinking sun,
I think this is the moment when my shakes begun
When we arrive at the hotel, we’ll soon see
Afflictions, acute runs and a bed full of fleas
Heavy suitcases, tipping and stairs
Our floor has one of those warm urine airs
The neighbor’s sex and musical noise,
If we want to eat at all, we’re not spoilt for choice
Fill the rusty tub with steaming water
and lead our cockroach colony to slaughter
Then, perhaps, soon we’ll sleep
and tomorrow those high-brow promises you must keep
will put our home in a global perspective.
