Daryl’s Place; Thoughts on Gisborne.

Ok – so for an old bastard I’m pretty new at this … not so much the poetry thing … I’ve been banging on since I was seventeen about almost every aspect of love and the human condition … though I ground to a halt some years ago.  I blame the corporate machine, but that’s for later.

No – I’m new to ‘shipping’.  That is – getting something out there.

Heres’s the second piece.  Gisborne is a coastal town in Poverty Bay in New Zealand.  I had moved there in the early eighties as a teacher and fell in with the most wonderful bunch of degenerates and reprobates you could ever hope to spend time with.  DB, by the way was a pretty ordinary beer back in the day; Dominion Brewery is what it was.  Cut my drinking teeth on that and Lion Red.  Oh Dear.

The reprobates, led by a fellow teacher of Art at the local high school, were a great cure for a lonely boy even if the loneliness, of course, was my own silly fault as will become increasingly self-evident.

Daryl’s Place; Thoughts on Gisborne.

Thoughts of my friend (my enemy) fade to grey,
The slur of the windshield wiper
reminds me that winter is near.

A group of Maori girls
huddle for shelter outside the movie theatre
a wet Saturday afternoon
waiting for the two o’clocks to start

Two blue
eye shadow ladies
cross at the lights
Tight pair of jeans and a mini skirt
(fuck she must be cold, eh)
make a bee line for the ‘Old Boy’s Bar’

The road to the beach is slick
the wind blowing foamy from the sea
buffets my car.
Nestled between my knees
is a cold bottle of DB,
a drink to the Kaiti Leopards
rattling down the Coaster Sports – Line.

Later at a friend’s place we watch the sea
the Autumn sun struggles to our table,
glasses raised to toast an empty beach.
A decision must be made
on who drives to the pub

Keys are passed in a moment of silence
The fire hisses
a wave crashes…

This then is my new home                              This then is my new home
somewhere, to someone                                the warmth spreads in my veins
these people belong                                       and with it the thought
alone in the warmth of my car                       that at last to this place
I feel like that forgotten lover                          and these people I belong

So much has been lost
so much regained…
This, then, is my new home.

March – 1980


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