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My bro’s are over from WA

for the Tawa College reunion.

Flash hire car, flash motel.

We drink and we drink. It’s all good.

Mining pays well. There’s work on they say.

I tell them about my poetry

the slow process of writing

of looking for inspiration.

I hand them a folio of poems,

ones about Raro, Niue, family stuff.

Show them a couple they might like,

leave the table so I won’t hover.

Hearing words I turn back from the bench

one is shaking his head, tapping a photo

on the back of the paper the other holds up.

‘Did those fuckin’ Warriors lose again?’


‘Who’d they play?’

‘Roosters mate.’




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