More land cultivated, more produce by far.
More industry, fishing and farming and cars.
More tongues here are spoken, more nationalités,
Black, brown, and white faces, a real bouillabaisse.
Bewildering choices at delicatessens
That have me dumbfounded, and I know I’m guessing
When I point to a cheese with unfelt conviction,
And the shopkeeper smiles —
I feel like his victim.
It’s the same with the wines, and I do like a dram,
But I haven’t a lifetime to study their form.
So many, so much, and I feel it is true
That it’s all much too much —
but that’s only my view!
But this is West Europe, no stopping it now.
They live with these choices, I just don’t know how.
Do they sit up all night to decide just which bread
To eat with which butter, which cheese or which spread?
And as for the drinks, or the fish, or the meat,
Why, those such decisions must take them all week.
So that’s what they do in those bars and cafés,
They’re gesticulating and choosing their way
Through millions of choices right into the night.
It’s Euro-More-Plenty: And it’s a delight!
Copyright © J Cedric Watkins 2009