Drawing by Judith Wolfe
WILLIAM COOK

Two Poems


      Peripheral

      these old hills have become houses and cities

      green gone grey & hard
      bland boxes of pine & brick
      cleared the scrub

      pestilence of gorse
      heath fences of ancestors
      never known
      that were themselves, evicted
      stripped, robbed, raped

      that crawled between then choked
      brackish Manuka and Kowhai
      themselves, only newly named
      now gone ...

      but that was then and this is now
      tomorrow never comes
      yesterday means nothing
      no history, no connections
      no ownership
      on the periphery.

      Factory Snapshot

      The heat, a desert
      between our thumping factory floor
      & their air-conditioned offices
      thought blasted away
      by smoko horn
      semi-silence malaise
      switches are flicked
      in unison solidarity;
      a sigh is drawn
      a breath
      a heart-beat
      a whisper
      as switches flick


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