Auckland Poetry

The coast of
Memories  Late summer, it lasted well into September, when I walked along the pebbled beach in the bay, and saw my uncle and aunt sat on an air-mattress soa
king up the last of the summer light as the sea gently slapped around their feet. I walked passed them slowly in the hope they would turn around, see me and give me coins for ice cream; they didn’t and I was too shy to say halloo.  

My aunt looked more or less like my mother, uncle though had big shoulders and muscular arms, something to tell the boys in the street, but since he drove the town’s beer truck, I had to invent a story; he had been a boxer in
Chicago, but had to come home ‘cause his mother was sick, if not he would have been the heavy weight champion of the world now. 

Mother says that I mustn’t be alone so much, but I’m here to look at the shiny pebbles just under the surface of the sea, I used to take them home but they lost their lustre when dry. I also like to listen to the sea, it sighs mostly as being fed up of being so old and alone; often it whispers stories I repeat when going home. I can’t bring the boys here they will only be noisy and throw pebbles about.            

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