It was the worst
kind of day
for a burial.
kind of day
for a burial.
The poet, lashed red
by rain and booze,
said it was hard
to speak of such
a man. Instead
he’d leave us
with our thoughts,
and left.
by rain and booze,
said it was hard
to speak of such
a man. Instead
he’d leave us
with our thoughts,
and left.
We stood around
in rain,
with throats
as dry as death,
and thought it was
the kind of day
to lash
all poets red
and bury
poetry.in rain,
with throats
as dry as death,
and thought it was
the kind of day
to lash
all poets red
and bury
Sharpe, I. (Ed.). (2001, January 1). Best New Zealand Poems 2001. Retrieved from http://www.victoria.ac.nz/modernletters/bnzp/2001/home.html
"Imagine a country where the history of your people is told twice: once by your family and community, then again by your school and society."
ReplyDeleteAs a working class pakeha, this is the country I live in.
My family and community tells a struggle of resistance against capitalism and working class solidarity. My school and society tells a story of lazy bludgers who deserve to be poor.
ALOKA UST-5546