Transparent Words - Poetry
|Waiata Dawn Davies|
WAITAKI NEW YEAR
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.