[IN HASTE the inside returned to...] Poem by Hans Thill

IN HASTE the inside returned to the
outside: In her money-bag mother with her
folding umbrella father whose starter
failed

We ourselves carrying stilts
for which the path became too steep thorny
like one spot on the Queen of Heaven

in the grove. Placed one foot before the other (the creaking
parquet) the world's streets in our nerves
before we dared venture onto the slippery
surface mirroring gluttonous vinyl flooring
cold stoneware there in the scullery

head down and on tiptoe
up the stairs so that the beams
bent not to wake the old folks
A matter of honour

Translation by Tony Frazer