Monday, December 28, 2009

Dog days

These are the dog days between Christmas and New Year,
when by common agreement New Zealanders decide to let
nothing happen; when the bones of politics bleach in the
sun; when worn-out issues, washed and spun, are left to
dry colourlessly on the line; when stripling summer
struggles for definition, like a body-builder seeking muscle
tone; when the pohutukawa, late one year, early the next,
can never be taken as red; when traffic backs up for miles,
and the engine ticks like a cooked clock; when, the camping
ground reached too late in the day, father drives tent pegs
into the rude earth with a savage fury; rain comes on,
making of wrappings and ribbons one pulp, and glazed
fruits lie uneaten. The dying year sinks in the west, and the
awful knowledge dawns: We had the cone but missed the
ice-cream. Remindingly, beside the quays, the beached
whales lie gasping; courier and postie visit us no more;
and none knows what’s worth watching on TV tonight.


Anonymous said...

Yet I note a veritable burst, two in two days, of Opposable Thumb action.
In these empty days of our lives we appreciate your efforts to remove the glaze from our eyes. Another piece of Christmas cake, don't mind of I do.

Anonymous said...

nice post. thanks.