the city beckons, lays itself
prone
across two harbours:
a volcanic fuse.
all is apparent
that will happen here, history
divined
on the bus-stop timetable
on every main street.
they will come
down arterial roads
to build it, to destroy it,
who will conquer it
& love it.
we’ll clean the billboards!
pasting our own proclaiming:
“this is for you,
aaaaaaaaathis is for me”
until we believe it.
aaaaaa―the thought
steps down
& matures slowly
as I watch the beautiful Indian child
at the wheel of the blue boat
in Te Atatu Park,
in one hand an ice cream.
