Nothing much
It was the snatch of a dream,
someone said this is not
what you do in the desert,
it was one precise thing, not a list,
and I had to find my way back to it.
They always ask you now, don’t they,
to remember how it felt.
I only heard the words, had no idea
how they matched what I’d done,
something like opening
a door or a window
in a stopped car. I’m practised, so
on waking I saw a British army lorry
on a German country road heading
west. That’s all, because
I don’t go into confined spaces
if I can help it. I’ve learnt not to
from my mother, and to be grateful
for the right Jack and Jock,
Cadbury’s chocolate, understatement.
Regina Weinert grew up in Hamburg, then lived in Edinburgh for many years and now lives in Sheffield. Her poems appear in magazines, e.g. The North, Pennine Platform, Poetry Salzburg Review, Stand, Under the Radar and The Friday Poem.