The Inn
Many years ago an uncle of mine
told a story what happened at a small hotel
near the sanatorium, the guest had been visiting loved ones.
The evening meal consisted of meat cakes in gravy with
stewed cabbage an boiled potatoes, Norway is not
famed for French cuisine, but they ate well.
In the end, there was only one meat cake left
and the landlady urged the guests to eat all,
no one wanted to so she switched off the light.
For a moment a stunned silence, then a high pitched
scream alarmed she switched on the light
a man sat there with five forks stuck in his hands.
On reflection, the story has a tinge of sadism,
and I cannot vouchsafe if the story is true.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem