Poem

Ulex europaeus, gorse

A hedge right here he
spades a hole, digs me in.
Such a fine view of the sea
across to a peninsula,
a marae, the blue smoke
and steam curling
from the ground. I put down
roots immediately, humus,
some ash.

It is so warm; native wasps
perch on my thorns, take to the yellow
flowers quicker than bees.
Beside the sands a Mission house
stinking of piss, rot, and dung;
the breeze mingles
with raised voices
on a hill where a scrap of
coloured stuff flies until an axe
takes down the pole once, twice,
four times.

Uproot yourselves,
a remnant of perspiration
hangs over the ships.
I cast about, swallow land
as if I owned it.

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