I grew up in a country of

                        fish & chips

                    & 9 to 5.

With jet back hair and dark skin

I stood out sorely at school,

                                at work,

                                in the street.

 

I longed to visit that place, elsewhere,

Which my parents always spoke of.

The place where I would fit in.

 

Now I am here,

And I did not grow up in this country of

                                                chappatis & dahl

                                            & ooh-rahs & air-rahs.

 

I stand out sorely at work,

                                on the bus,

                                in the street,

With my too-short hair and my too-light skin.

 

‘Western immigrant’, they whisper.

 

It reminds me of that place,

Where I grew up,

Elsewhere.