Poem — Jill Harris

Weather map

To the staff at Longacre Press

Karen takes us from top to bottom
and back again. White spaghetti slides
around the screen, blue and pink lines
with little peaks and bumps disport
themselves. Cloud over Wellington
the sun perched permanently on Nelson.

Dunedin’s first up – mostly misty.
I have a stake in your weather map
I share your lodgings.
I watch you shake your scarves
warm your hands round hot mugs
slip into other worlds to test
the currency. You flick your finger
against the rim – glass or crystal?
You touch the flowers – silk or real?

Soon there’ll be no reason to watch
the weather map down south. The
landlord’s done for all of us. We’re
on the street and hoping for a big
pink H to fill the Tasman.

 

Jill Harris

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