SCREECHED TO A HALT

The Ngäti Toa taua
swept down the South Island
till they came to Tuturau
and an obelisk in a field.
Quite a shock, in 1837.

The war party screeched to a halt.
Reading the monument
they threw down their arms in disgust:
We never did conquer Murihiku.
Tühawaiki came up from the south coast
and stopped us here -
he stopped us good.

All around
stretched the grass
its nodding heads concealing
many.

Tühawaiki
the battle won
returned to Ruapuke.

Emollient in victory
the grazing sheep
rub their fleece against his name.

BLUECLIFFS BEACH

The boy plays in the sand. His father, the inspector, has been gone
for two hours, checking paua, checking crayfish, checking for bad men
sifting the tide.

The boy is damming streams. They flow down from the blue cliffs, over
the road, and into Te WaeWae Bay. Except for one: the stream the boy
has dammed. The water pools, goes wide, searches for a way. The boy
is ready. He has driftwood, he has sand. One day he will be the
greatest hydro engineer the world has ever seen. The Waiau, the
mighty Clutha: none will flow free of his reach for long.

His dad returns. No bad men today. They drink coffee from a thermos,
taking turns with the single cup, then walk back to the van. The boy
looks back. The wind, the sun, the tide, the stream, the sand.

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