Auckland Poetry

Morning Raid

I hear the swishing sound of the helicopter gunship coming
our way, dogs whine and hide in barns as the chopper hangs
in the air just outside the kitchen window blowing up a dust
storm. A solder slides down a rope I open the window, he
hands me a toaster and smartly salutes before climbing back up.

When I plug in the toaster it detonate in a cacophony of finely
chopped rainbows, bacon in the frying pan burns a plume of
reeking smoke thickens the air. Chopper down, hit by a ground
to air missile; I settle for oats mixed with cream and strawberry
As dogs turn feral and tear into crispy bacon.