country man confused in
Auckland for a day

here's the city & no mask of politeness
the old man on the hobbled tarseal
doesn't attempt hello

a strange landmark, the giant spark-plug
you focus on sky
not the means of getting to it

next door, a newly painted building
is made to look old & venerable

a man sitting at a side-walk café
in a gale
must read the morning paper
whatever happens

a lot of people parked in side-streets
read maps

a drunk asks for a dollar, I give her two

concrete, bitumen, posts & signs, the token tree

vertical steel & plastic walls, unreal colours
yet there are sparrows and mould on a post
& two men in suits sweeping rubbish

w.w.w. n.z. jobs co. n.z., it says
they take the capital letter out of you

signs say: London Underground
Murphy's Irish Bar
Ich Liebe Theatre
"Thanks kid" (Batman)
– where are we?

not many men have hair

an ad for a suit, has a spruced individual
in tight material & bleached skin
holding a ball. all of a sudden
everyone wants to be a juggler

a crossing alarm goes off & I think I have to cross
though nowhere near

there are bagpipes busking ...
where are we?

bleep! bleep!
"I'm on the phone."

when I ask for water in my coffee
they're grieved

if you're above people, they don't notice you
lunching here, in the balcony
I have a right to air space

"you'll never walk alone," the speakers croon

yes, I like the limitations of family