A Take-away
 
I stay in the car, waiting
for chicken tikka masala,
the engine ticking, cooling,
till I get out into late summer.
 
Outside isn’t far,
but it is a different country,
a nation of light, an immersion
in radiance, even at dusk.
 
Outside you hear everything,
see all the light there is,
way beyond LEDs.
You feel air, heat, aromas.
 
The smell of honey for example,
from gumtrees flowering,
seeps over the road
like a honeycomb sauna.
 
Yuin people listening to Country
– to honey filling the air, birds,
dryness, insects, the wind –
know six or seven seasons.
 
I tell Sammi of the honey bomb
discharging outside her shop
when I collect the food.
But it’s busy in there.
 
Outside, Indian seasoning
mingles with the honey season,
coriander garnishes,
Taj Mahal archways.
 
All countries coexist
in this moment by the car
in the warm saffron night
and infinite hum of outside.