No fast traffic here
no high steel and concrete
in the streets, but
walkable space

The sun draws attention
away from us, towards the light
on the black facades on the harbour
the white cornices and red tiles:

the picture for the photos
of the tanned tourists
on the terrace of the tanhouse
who walk into our gardens

as if we live here
in an open-air museum
and should praise
their silly insolence

as a decent interest
But we can live with it
The visitors walk around
in a parallel reality

and we have real neighbours
a wide sky, the wide water
and the green island
We can breathe here

as the wood breathes
in the seasons
as the wind breathes
in the grass

In the evening, the river is a theatre
the water carries the music
to our ears, the romance

of a saxophone, sunset
twinkling in the wine and the church
rosy, completely gentle grace

Tourists pretend click clack
that not they, but we, are the extras
and the city were a cardboard set:

theme park Paris l'amour
young people on the quays around
a pillar candle and kissing

couples as it should be
in the sunthrowers of the tourist vessels
gleam the spots in the corners

that you can smell

In Gilroy they sell garlic
coffee, apples, ice cream, and cookies
In Deventer, the colours are yellow:
mustard, tongues, and beards

the asphalt, roses, and the sun
paintings in the museum
dogs, clothes, mustard everywhere
mustard soup, salad, beans, tea, and eggs

They make a living from it, they are
what they eat, they would like to be
named Garlic and Mosterd
to compete with Hamburg
Tabasco, Sardinia, Nîmes, and Genoa
Badminton, Bikini, or Cyprus at the least

But in the competition of interests
these dreams are far too big
although the world is getting smaller
maybe small enough for Deventer

to be a theme park with nothing
but books and mustard, a fairy tale
where everyone is welcome
to dream away a day