Don't Call Me Guiri
By Ewan
- 2701 reads
Call me Juan, Ay Wan, Eh-van;
I’ll answer rapidly,
shooting your short, hispanic vowels out
like peas through a rolled paper tube.
Don’t apologise for your lateness.
I’ll smile and shrug with you,
order coffees black and bitter from
your cousin working for peppercorn.
Take your time, speak slow, for me,
I’ll answer as a stranger,
the words like unfamiliar flavours
in my Anglo-Saxon mouth.
Don’t worry, I’m paying,
I’ll keep the receipt safe,
read the fading, foreign glyphs
until they mean less than nothing.
Footnote: A guiri is a foreigner nowadays. It used to mean just anyone from out of town
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Comments
It can be good to be an
It can be good to be an outsider and observe the strangeness only strangers see.
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This is perfect. The
This is perfect. The prejuicio that is accommodating. The Spanish till assistants used to point at the total in pesetas and expect me to fumble with the money. Mira a los guiris.
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Differing interpretations of
Differing interpretations of how to pronounce other languages is fascinating and often funny. Enjoyed your poem!
Why are Spaniards always cold? It's because they only have Juanita.
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Sounds like you've fallen out of love
with the country you are in, Iwan.
Personally I didn't mind being called a guiri, that's what I was.
Cabron is OK even hijo de puta when I deserved it.
Better than being called, spik or dago or even Manuel.
Hier in Belgie Ik ben een 'veemdeling' maar ik heet niet mensen, 'Klootzaken' of Hollanders, 'Kaaskoppen.'
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Bitter and real like the
Bitter and real like the espresso shots.
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