It's Saturday, near midnight <br />You've been a month in Norway, <br />A country eaten by fjords with wolvine teeth. <br /> <br />Have you found a decent room? <br />Is there a laundrette near? <br />You'll enter a bar alone <br />They'll think you're Georgian. <br />Beer there costs an arm and a leg <br /> <br />Winter's long and dark as a bear's mouth. <br />You'll order a gin and tonic <br />You'll try English, Scots, a smattering of Thai. <br />The bar tender will reply in Bokmal or Nyorsk. <br /> <br />You've crossed the sea like a bird <br />To King Harald's kingdom of fish, forests and oil <br />This is your feeding ground now. <br /> <br />Their currency's the krone. It won't stretch far. <br />Never forget that these are a Viking people. <br /> <br />Who are their heroes? Ibsen, Edvard Munch, <br />Visionaries of illness, madness and death <br />Always making a saga out of a sigh <br /> <br />Though you will not be troubled by vampires, <br />Elk and deer may commandeer the highway <br />Regardless of traffic signs <br /> <br />Elk are active during a full moon, <br />And after a heavy snow fall. <br />If you upset an elk, you should contact <br />A Sami shaman, who will sing a joik <br />To sooth the ruffled feelings of the animal. <br /> <br />Hardanger fiddles are topped <br />With the carved heads of beasts. <br />Their music is heavily polyphonic <br />Will you dance to their tune? <br />What will they change in you? A mother worries.<br /><br />sheena blackhall<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-mother-worries/
