HOKITIKA
- David Eggleton
We skipped the town, but stopped
in a picnic area to gaze at wetland,
lit by spontaneous combustion
of the sun, and trickling like armpits,
as gnats swarmed from hell's waiting room,
the open air a decompression chamber,
after a long drive down the coast's curls
of fern and surf done by a copperplate hand.
Trees punched holes in the sky, like ground-to-air missiles.
Weka eyed us, and pecked the bejesus out of snail shells.
Stone tablets beneath the river's flow
laid out an unreadable mosaic of bushlore;
a faded DOC sign wrote its message
to posterity; and spidery signature
tunes of motor engines signed
the mist, then faded down the road.
The wood-hens scurried under the table,
as we shredded cold chicken, unscrewed the thermos,
shrugged at drizzle's worthless
banknotes of forest leaves,
damp cigars of twigs,
and sucked against tarry teeth
scalding tea, hot as tears.
In a map the size of a handkerchief,
I wrapped a wishbone,
and placed it in the waste-bin _
all stored in the motion capture of memories,
like bread crumbs carried off by birds of the mind.
• David Eggleton's most recent collection of poems is Time of the Icebergs, published by Otago University Press in 2010.
