Otara – have a Banana
coming back from the Papatoetoe pub
towards Otara in a Japanese car made for two
I am lolling like a sea-lion in the back
the little car turns the corner too quickly and as
I put my hand out instinctively to stop the roll, it moves into outer-space as the window shatters on the road
laughing from shock as we cross the motorway overbridge
I see the clouds and sky more clearly with no window
and the fresh breeze quickens my slight hysteria
we pull into the large asphalt covered carpark
which on weekends transforms into a busy market place
but now is only populated by tin ghosts on wheels
leaving my friends I head towards the town-centre
where people shop and smile and talk, listen to music
and the aiitu of you is around every corner
sitting in a cafe I order coffee and a roll
in a gravel-syrup voice, thinking Tom Waits for no-one
as another mother joins the endless Post Office queue
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