asset sales

checked in.

-- old st paul's
---parliament grounds (part I and II)
--- long walk
--- liquor store
--- home
--- asset

tinged by the cold,
in a brutalist shadow
i play beasts
and dig my hands into
my nervous pockets of time.

and then there is salmon pink.
just a flash.
and it is he.
wandering as he always has.

avoiding the cold of course.
she ambles about behind him,
casual.
no sense of nervous time.

then it is the four woods.
the totara. rimu. kauri. matai.
the four colours, strengths
of this upturned boat they call spirituality.

but, the spirituality aside from woods,
my father pursues
is warmth; a shield from the wellington wind.

the parliament green is sunnier. sheltered.
just for a little while.
a three quarter trick provides the balance.

as does the impassioned voice of 370,000
whose souls are framed
in an orange window of three words.

is that the future
i ask
staring at the milestone in my life;
in this country's life.

i hear this country cough
with its must and phlegm.
and i know i must fight more for her.

lunch was not so easy to hear the answer for.
my house was invalidated.
new world's aisles of plastic and pseudo-food
temporarily voted
as a quick fix.

a quick fix for this country.
even for my parents.

back to the green.
artichokes. olives. sundried tomatos
(are they really sundried?)

then the 5 minutes on,
5 minutes off
lambton quay.

anticipating hard their arrival at my life;
but they never quite got there.

but they got up through the tunnel
to the door of number 10.

the chickens of old friends
whose greatest worth at this end of life
is their asset sales.

it was whiskey. laughs.
and competition.

but they are
after 40 years
still children.

still awkward.