[Flowers in three vases], 1920s-1930s, Christchurch, by Roland Searle. Te Papa.
singing teacher
the red graphic Marvel tee
over khakis, black rimmed
glasses strike your pale face.
the scuffs on the Nike from K Rd
footpaths match those pen marks
in the palm of your heavy hand.
the stench of that Australian
shepherd that nips at my young knees
and drools on the rented wood floor
hovers by the quiet after my off-pitch song
gets a ‘wrong’ from pursed lips
that bursts bliss on a Wednesday afternoon.
i can still taste the salt on my tongue
tears track down like a mudslide
‘oh i’m fine’ betrayed
by rose puffed cheeks.
Year 9 Drama Room
ACT ONE: Scene One: Day One
The Year 9 Drama Room.
Giggling young girls enter.
The flick of the light switch
by shaking fingers sets
the scene in amber wash.
The epoxy make-shift
stage is littered with fresh
new Docs and black Macpacs.
Victoria Secret
mixed with sweat and old socks
perfumes this March morning.
Our company’s made of
arrogant pigeons from
the old poo-berry tree
and teenagers sitting
cross legged while chatting
in a misshaped circle.
My stomach delivers
tumbling monologues
timed for the roaring bell.
The girls gather up bags,
slip on their leather shoes,
and quickly rush off stage.
To the Things My Brain Sees While I Sleep
I will stuff you with cotton
like a lavender wasp
from the Avon St house
where I raced steel scooters.
I will hang you on the wall
in a museum of Takapuna sand
by my burnt sunblock skin.
I will trap you in a jar
with twenty-two tangerine talismans
then bury you deep in dirt
where even Freud couldn’t find you.
I’ll keep you forever
on my bedside table
where you can stockpile dust
next to that oversized door
Rose stole from Jack.
