Tasmania Poem by Jan Oskar Hansen

Tasmania

Wool of the sheep in Tasmania is full of soot a fire has
destroyed the farms they belonged to. They have gone
feral now grazing where there is any grass left…
In a country where insensitive incomers stupidly killed
off the Tasmanian tiger, sheep are safe, no predators,
but man. Tasmania, this land of bungalows, sheep and
white immigrants seeking an Eden sans fear, then came
the big fire and people had to flee into the sea to avoid
getting burned. I was in Hobart once, it must be classed
as the most boring town in the world; and to my utter
disgust they sold margarine made of sheep´s fat. Think
of if fish & chips cooked in THAT FAT. People who live in
a secure society do not improve their culinary taste or
and their culture, tend to be provincial and they love fat
sheep meat; an adoration which is typical for a people
who lives in a cultural cocoon.