The Auckland years
A swipe after the millenium
The city displaced by estuaries
confused by the wind and seasonal humidity
The bakery gave them a cause
the river was me
The lunchtime impatience was them
competing with the unseen
Across the suburbs
A thousand brothels
Not a drop of love
Just a few kilos of flour
For a working class bakery
We lost ourselves in metropolitan rhetoric
And the backstreets cut off from the gargantuan highways
Where the pauper peeps head tilted to check we are lost
then disappears into some shack
Just enough to snort or smoke or smack
And we pointed jokingly
assuming our lives were fountains
of mineral water
blessing the fields of our experience
Ignorant us and our tentative appearance
Did we lose ourselves
through weekend mould
liver fat and hangover cold
In the biggest city
In our tiny corner of the world
Designed the brag
Big yaughts far from reach
we'd tell ourselves
we were starfish on the beach
Outcompeted we, the bakers butchers and cooks
and uncouth, beerbellied rookies
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