I drove, all the way to
Wainuiomata.
On the way back I stopped
to gaze upon my city, my place.
Across the harbour to Wellington
To where I tell myself the flat is.
I yell, and yell, to no avail.
Eventually a bright green v-dub pulls up
and I leave. But on the way down
I think of Dixon street
And the words that were spoken
Clumsy, inarticulate words.
I can write an A grade essay, but
when I have to say something important
Woody Allen manifests himself
And it’s not like the movies at all
…in the end
And now I go to the lectures and
speak with my friends
Drunken journeys out of town, home
Words more easily spoken, difficult words
And I’m thankful, thankful for someone
Someone to talk to.
Act like nothing happened. One (no) way conversation.
Hardest thing in my life. My glass is now empty.