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Not home

 

Right now is not Home.

It’s more a classic Kiwi camping ground.

With the salty lick of a

Tip-Top summer

And the butterfly anticipation

Of what may eventuate

In the flimsy tent

Lashed by wind and grit.

Macrocarpas and magpies

Nod their disapproval

As cars wheel in the sand.

 

 

 

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