Auckland Poetry

A Lament

I have bought an air-condition unit for the kitchen,
It hangs there high up on the wall making me feel
Prosperous, the women in the village have been in
Seeing it, since I used to be a chef and do bake my
Own bread, the men think I’m a queer, don’t mind
Their wives swapping recipes with me…

It’s strange, is it not? Forever I was a chef in hotels
And posh restaurant, not well paid and cooks where
Not seen, the person sweating smelling of booze and
Being unappreciated; alas, now they are superstars
Their love life is reported in magazines. Yet, when
My women go they leave a scent of mimosa behind.

The Witness

Doorbell rang, a police officer was selling tickets for some
do, forgotten what, he wore a smile, but was also armed, so
I bought a ticket. I admired his gun, told me he practiced
every day and was a crack shot. “Can you hit the tomcat that
crosses the road?” (The cat belonged to the nasty woman in
the house opposite mine?) “No problem,” drew his gun, shot
once and the cat rolled in the dust.

The woman came out she had a shotgun, aimed it at the officer
who ran to his car calling for back ups, she missed and went
back into the house. Five minutes later 24 patrol car drove up,
sirens and screeching tires arrived first; every car drove over
the cat till there was but some loose fur flying in the wind and
48 shooters were pointing at the woman’s front door; local TV
was also present, this was a scoop.

“Come out lady, we know you are in there, you have tried to
kill one of our officers.” “He shot my cat, she said.“ “We can
see no cat in the road, there is a bit of a tail here but that can
belong to a raccoon, or we’ll throw a stun grenade through
the window, your hair will be a mess and we know you have
been to the hairdresser for a perm this morning, a grenade”
will mess it all up again

The lady came out, saw me in the doorway and said:
“He is my witness, he saw it all.” 48 blue uniforms and 48
guns glared at me, I shook my head, in denial, made a shrug,
the woman is mad, and closed the door. The judge was lenient,
the lady is middleclass, her husband wear a suit and works in
a bank; he let her off with a caution, smiled and gave her tiny
a kitten, and everyone, in courthouse day, cried and applauded.

From Here to Eternity

It was a very long road – straight- and ending in a haze,
no place to stop for a drink only one shop selling coffins
and religious stuff. Those who lived in the beginning of
the road had never walked to its misty end, God lived
there it was said, but a keep fit fanatic, confident and
careless, walked the whole length of the road twice a day
got so bored and he hung himself. People who lived at
the beginning of the road and also those in the middle,
looked at each other and made a Gallic shrug.

The widow, a tall lady who played guitar sang folksongs
about saving the rain forest, dyed her hair olive and, bought
a white coffin and painted it green to make her husband’s
dead a celebration to life fell in love with the undertaker,
he too played a musical instrument, accordion; now they
make a good living playing sad music at funerals. As for
the haze, it turned out to come from the public bath, now
closed down, as everybody has their own bathroom, to be
seen near a bathhouse is a mark of disgraceful poverty.