New verse by Otago writer Liz Breslin.
No one in my poem is on p
They’re all on p in Timaru
except the student buying camel coat fabric
and the fag-waving granny saying what a to do
and the Community House security dude
arms folded, clipboard primed and plastic.
They’re all on p in Timaru,
but not the old man, aerobic walking in the pool,
his moves deliberate, elaborate, tragic,
or the mothers marking iTime, ignoring, rude,
their kids in uniforms, twirling round street poles.
High vis havoc. U ram it.
See. They’re all on p in Timaru.
The guy on the walkbridge, the trainspotting dude –
maverick notebook, hidden graphics.
Don’t say what you see, say what you knew.
And blame the drifter in his pimped out Prelude,
rushing, late, to see his fag-waving granny
quavering, cuppa tea? what a to do.
Yeah. They’re all on p in Timaru.
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Liz Breslin, 2017
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