Mary Cresswell
Citizenship is a privilege granted by the state
reverently and advisedly
(God Save the Queen and all who sail in her)
but the ceremony is not what you think.
The practical is a bugger:
they locked us girls up, they did, behind closed doors
one Russian, two Americans, three Vietnamese
and one lady from Hong Kong.
They gave us a cooking test to be sure
we would be good wives and mothers
the backbone of the country
(along with farmers and greywacke).
Prepare a family meal, they said,
using all and only
one loaf of bread, two pounds of butter, three packets of hundreds and thousands
and one bottle of orange cordial.
When they unlocked the doors
we emerged, clothed in glory
bearing plates, chanting Aw yeah!!
Yeah-nah!! the public servants chanted back
and everyone partied in groups
one lot at the railway station, two at Mt Vic, three down Lambton Quay
and one on the steps of the Beehive.
But this was too much for
such superior ladies as we:
We left them to it
stuck our noses in the air
clutched our handbags to our bosoms
and marched straight to Kirk’s office
one Russian, two Americans, three Vietnamese
and one lady from Hong Kong.
