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Rob Hack

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Bumped into a Cheated Friend at Pak ‘n Save

 

His hair is dirty steel wool

forehead a tyre tread

his eyebrows ask me questions

eyes like fish bait angling for answers

I don’t have.

His nostrils flare at my sympathy.

Thin lips grip his mouth

around teeth that are hermits.

His skin is the beach at Dunkirk

a handshake scuttles back to

its pocket. Under a wrinkled shirt

and agitated chest, his lungs deflate.

He is a collapsing tower

his heart has already jumped.

 



 
 
Rob Hack began reading poetry, a lot, in 1997 and began writing poems. A year later, realising he needed help, he studied at Whitireia from 2006 to 2008 and the International Institute of Modern Letters in 2011. He’s involved in organising a monthly poetry show on Paekakariki 88.2 FM. His favourite meals are ika mata (raw fish), taro and chicken.

 

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