Transparent Words - Poetry

Waiata Dawn Davies





All day caravans and campervans, will draw

Into our reserve and make a circle round the green.

Awnings will spread, children scatter to take up

games laid down last summer.


Except Jason and Dulcie strolling

towards the river because now they are

fifteen, with breasts and a beard.


We will set trestles under the oak for

drinks and salads and breads and things

ladies bring on plates, not forgetting

sausages and steaks and fillets of salmon

wrapped in foil.


The men will gather round to inspect

Fred’s new hooded electric barbecue

with grill, hot plate, rotisserie and

an oven for warming bread. They will say,

‘Bloody shame we can’t just have

a bonfire on the beach with sausages

on sticks like the old days.”


 Anyone seen Dulcie?”

 her mother will ask.

At ten o’clock  Mary and Jack

will tune their guitars. Mothers

will send children to wash their hands.

‘Where the hell is bloody Jason?”

his father will ask.


At midnight we will sing ‘Auld Lang Syne

several times and toast the New Year,

absent friends, neighbours, Helen Clarke,

Vladmir Putin, whitebait, salmon, and sea run trout.


Anglers from the next camp will come first footing  

and when there are no more bottles or cans

we will  make tea to toast the dawn.


Jason and Dulcie will stroll back

to the green with last night’s stars

still shining in their eyes.




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