Where do you go to my lovely - K-t Harrison

from Corina Goes to Wellington

Off peak capacity packed carriages back to back
Brown girls on the train navel piercings exposed and
London talk guard purves brown sugar arse curves
Sees me looking then shrugs indifferent
Eyes shift then turn back to beginnings of pacific cracks
Tamure shaking guarded hand snaking
To hole in pocket the wanker the brief cased banker
That blocks his view his interest uncompounded
Hanging tongue dumfounded
Lip smacked his gob shut Adams lump salivated loco motion exacerbated swallowed
Salty globules in hand discrete cum shot mistaken for snot
By wifey chinese washer woman handkerchief confessed in 
Deep centered capital arterial leads
Congested lung and bronchi deep veined thrombi.

Hypnotic psychotic tickets please sit here and write this on my knees.

Honkey doll from Tawa dressed in Abercrombie and Fitch
Accented bastard from over the ditch
The flotsam jettisoned at Takapu Road. Stop.
Destination young man stand for Andy capped man
To sir with love fuss of the upper class crust no standing on the bus to London.
Errol Braithe waitered to gastric breathed smog based

Alcoholic blood lines cocaine speed blinds and opium den fed
The triads dead in blood red mob turf
I reminisce a Westie Auckland life to faraway Piha surf.
And to drink a cab sav at the Puhoi.
Paremoremo maxi don’t take a taxi and don’t go to Paris Diana and Dodie
U2’s roadie died, Bono in the shadze cried
96 Fahrenheit in the grave
Jo public doesn‘t know Kelvin by degrees.

Bob Dylan boy from Arkansaw
Leather boot talking to floor board walking
Picks guitar will not go far arpeggio blues glow
In vested roboticised part timer factory workers
Feed us seymoored on the train to bee hived squabble
Squall Amy’s Winehouse said, ‘No. No. No.’
And Cupid was drawing back his rain bow
The warrior trained mind 
Eclectic kindnesses.

Corina going in to Wellington for the first time on the train.
October 2008

The Samoan boy with the law degree
Sat down one day and talked to me
For free
He: said he felt for the Maori ones
Who had to sit through laws 121
And hear about how they’d been done over
From the palagi lecturer who came from Eastbourne.

I told him to go home.

The Maori man with the pony tail
Told me he was out on bail
He’d failed
Jail; for him the last resort
Seeking justice at the district court
There was none to be found he thought
That the duty solicitor could have tried harder.

I told him to go home.

The Pakeha lady at the shopping centre
Backed up and dented my right front fender
Then her
Faux fur: hat that she’d bought in London

Was blown away by a gust of wind and
A Chinese man in a silver Nissan
Ran it over because he thought it was a dog

I told them both to go home.

Me and Al at the beach in Makara
Drinking Pinot Noir from a place in Marlborough
The car
Far: away from the spot where we were fishing
Feeling horny and I was wishing
At the theatre in Paraparaumu was better.

I said Al let’s go home.

Corina and Al wasting bait at Makara.
December 2008.

Contributor's Note

Kia ora koutou, these poems are part of a  poetry sequence called 'Corina Goes to Wellington.'
Ko Hapuakohe te maunga
ko Mangawara te awa
ko Tainui te waka
ko Ngati Paoa, Ngati Haua, Ngati Mahuta nga iwi,
ko Waiti,Kai-a te-mata, Wharekawa me Waahi nga marae.
No te Hoe-o-Tainui ahau
ko toku ingoa ko k-t Harrison.
He kaituhi ahau.


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