From where I'm sitting

From where I'm sitting, Ireland has a strange look to it.

So much so that at first glance I hardly recognised her. She uttered my name with a hint of hesitation on my way past and we both chuckled with our lack of instant reconnection. And as I had been hearing nothing but the despairing wails of financial discord drifting over the electronic and marine waves these past six months I couldn't help but notice the disparity between those pessimistic caterwaulings and the emminently comfortable lifestyles being pursued.
Instead of hollowed-out gimlets staring at the empty walls in arch despondence, from where I'm squinting I see glimmering eyes fixed on acres of flat-screen plasma TV surface as expensive sports coverage packages pass.
Rather than frugal and cautious belt-tightening meals there are great swathes of swine hewn down as replacement for the burned dioxin-riddled carcasses in order to supply an unflagging hunger for sausage and rasher to round out already bloated family menus.
Is there any other interior design apart from sofly lit beige and bone-white minimalism, with decking and darkwood furniture, and of course leather couches? Not from where I'm lounging. And sipping Perlenbacher, or Adelscott, or Leffe. Getting hard to find yourself offered a can of Smithwicks.
From where I'm jostling, this car is mega-long, scarily silent, and the dashboard is as wide as I am from foot to forehead.
It must be easy to be an apprentice burglar these days. You just go to any new housing estate, master breaking into one beige house and you have the knack. Every house has the same layout, you could do it in your sleep, or preferably, the owner's. Great atmosphere around here too I hear said from where I'm frowning, very quiet seems to be the desired quality. More important than life or vibrancy. But they say they'll build a Centra soon, and a pub in a few years. The markets permitting.
From where I'm quaking, everyone is forcing themselves to enjoy themselves as they play poker. Texas Hold'Em is the sarky succesor to Trival Pursuit. Ah yes, a game where pure chance, deception, ego, bravado, lieing and one-upsmanship apports the victor the spoils. A game that can't be played for a pleasure un-accompanied by monetary gain. A game I suspect people try desperately to like more than they actually do so that either harmony reigns or they don't feel left out. A game that is no more or less boring than rolling a dice and betting on the outcome.
Across the glass minnarets completely covering the bar table there are seven former brunettes who fail to convince me of their blondeness but succeed in conveying their blandness.
From where I'm shrugging they can look my way all night, even talk to me, and never understand how I feel towards them. I'm willing to bet they'd be surprised.
From where I'm listening, these accents sound strange.
From where I'm standing, the words I get in edgeways seem to come out sideways.

From where I'm from seems to be gone.