one side of food central
is kids only
some are on cellphones
others talk to each other
older couples sit
behind the coffee stand
jewellery burgers kebabs & roasts
streetwear footwear mens
a girl out of uniform
duck-walks
a stallholder from the balcony above
looks on
a boy talking to the hottest chicks
is red-faced, but persistent
waving a fork and raising his eyebrows
to his bro
one of the girls leaves
and two tables amalgamate
shouted across the space:
you faggot and
I know them
accusations of 'emo'
and what did he say to you?
Tuesday, 2.30pm
middle-aged couples
and friends
a few young families
and single men
a noisy escalator
something scraping
something dropped
will anyone check
will anyone do maintenance
will it stop of its own accord
it's started again
that scraping
move on
to seats
by the bacon & egg slices
ham, cheese & tomato
spinach, fetah & pinenut
a child in a revolving castle
doesn't seem to ever get out
perhaps she pays by credit card
perhaps she's trapped
but it's not perched high
and she needs no long rapunzel hair
if I can write a poem about it
I can digest
I hear rugby grunts
I would like to say something
for James Dickey
who makes space for clothing
in his poems
they wrote serial letters in those days,
to Auntie, it could be
anything you like, she didn't mind
'the kowhai is flowering', or
'there are tuis in it'