Wednesday, November 23, 2011


The hippiest hip
On the global edge
The worst whites can do
To a bird of paradise
Tattooed, cow-pierced
Bare-footed skateboarder
Too good to work
Not too good to beg for smokes
Or camp protesting in a park

The Maori are still there
Driving buses
Delivering freight
Not really bothered
By the white waves that wash over them
Or the neon Chinese characters
They still see
Paradise there
Under asphalt and traffic lights

Asians and arabs
Arrived and living life
Working hard and smiling hard
Sending their kids to school
Speaking slacker English
Fighting tournaments in internet cafes
Speaking 8 languages to the clients
As they work in their father’s store
Or smoke and chat and run their own

Strange city
Palm trees and gigantic trees
Frozen still behind Victorian brownstones
And walking parks
Buses hurtling up and over
The hills to Queen street
Where she has never been
Where I another strange wanderer
Trudge past your chic shops and beer stores

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