With the slums of Paris as the norm
Of course Brisbane is exotic.
Imagine ripe mangos dropping on your roof
Or the insistent flight of flying-foxes
Every evening. Humidity
Could be midsummer anywhere
Particularly mid-continent. It will pass.
Growth – not human – is what matters.
Humans are peripheral here
Whereas they are all that matters in Paris.
Life might be something to use;
Here it does not count. Insects
Have as much claim: they are everywhere.
It is strange to feel so isolated.
Do I feel something is wrong? No.
Everything has its own proportion
But I will go back to what I think of as home
And in ten months I will think of mosquitoes
As the improbable cousins of humanity.