camping with boys
a blue blur flattens everything inside
the 3-meter-squared-square
I’m a steamroller
sent to flatten evil Farmer McGregor
it growls
then squirms around to roll
the perpendicular pathway
to make sure every bit of the people inside
has been paved into oblivion
Good morning, steamroller
I say, my crushed lips
luckily still able to
form a smile
campsite wishlist
scenery, including body of water
public land location close enough to main road to not be a major detour, far enough to not hear traffic
wildlife that entertains but does not steal food (ducks are adequate)
lack of biting insects
access to clean drinking water
toilet with good supply of toilet paper
under $30/night
space between sites
quiet neighbors
dark skies for good stars
vegetation for a windbreak
dry flat soft ground
a clean picnic table
parking space close to tent site
space for boys to frolic
bonus:
hot showers (coin operated is fine)
sink and soap to wash hands
walking track/nature trail
trash cans
recycling
camp host to reign in noisy neighbors if necessary
vegetated barriers to make sure each site has its own nook
washing machine
clothesline
covered cooking/eating area
no one else there
free
satellite stream while awaiting the Okarito kiwi
at least 30 glowing pearls on a string
arc across the sky
below Orion’s belt
evenly spaced
long enough for us to
discuss the phenomenon
while it unfolds
satellites, the simple answer
but to what end?
the old Englishman and I both say
we’ve never seen anything like it before
what could it mean
but war?
at the library next day
I consult the 1s and 0s
and quickly find an answer
Starlink-1, a chain of 60 satellites
Elon Musk’s put in the sky
sailing over New Zealand each night,
an effort at connection not destruction
another wonder
that still doesn’t approach
my delight at seeing
B-Zed the kiwi
Sand Creek Sigh
wending our way
through ghosts of kahikatea trees
shattered into cheese crates
we all go sour
buttons pushed
silent or silenced
vacant stares
and equally frosty penetrating scowls
the irritating jabs like mozzies upon us
I steam
why can’t we all just get along?
as usual
not seeing how I’m running things off the rails
not taking into account
a hierarchy of needs
no amount of sunshine or seaspray can fill
tonight the little morepork owls are everywhere
their 2-note incessant cries
like the repeated badgering question
of one son grinding his will against another
no, I can’t fight it
that little morepork must say his say
share all his dark time wishes and won’ts
sing his little heart silent
and I must summon more patience
again tomorrow
The Bunny Bus
hop on up to the bunny bus
it’s a rainbow-colored ride
come along aboard with us
where everything’s tie-dyed
La-la will be your driver
and Franky’s her best mate
a twitchy nose behind the wheel
will make your vacation great
if you are feeling blue
or the highway’s got you stressed
just give their ears a stroke –
even softer than you’d guessed!
so which way’ll it be, son?
where should La-la head?
Up the hill to Haast?
or was it Wanaka you said?
either way she’s ready
her big hind foot’s a-tapping
and her whiskers are aquiver
(although Franky is still napping)
so wriggle on through
that little bunny door
that your worries just can’t fit through
you won’t need them anymore
‘cause with La-la at the wheel
and some carrots in your pocket
the good vibes are as electric
as your finger in a socket
now New Zealand rolls away
Southern Alps and ocean, too,
and if there’s any problem
it’s that the hours are too few
from one end of the South Island
all the way to the other –
now don’t forget to bring along
your mother, dad, and brother
there’s room for everyone
in this Technicolor dream
and, yum!, Franky’s passing round
scones with Devonshire cream
so come for tea and stay a week
the bunsters wave you in
cause on the rainbow bunny bus
we’re all like long-lost kin
Piopiotahi Wind
waterfalls ascend into sky
white veils flow straight up
in this wind so strong
trees fall and water rises
another true miracle
I only believed on sight
mindful silence
in the deep dark of the glowworm cavern
there’s no chatter, no photos
(our guide warned)
and we are immersed/transfixed
by black water rushing below us
while above constellations of electric blue blips
are scattered at random like so many stars
all we can do is suck in our breath
and look
later a woman asks
Why did we need to be quiet?
So we could all enjoy it
our guide says without apology
without hearing where
you’re going to dinner
Found in Enn Zed
other countries you don’t know where the hell you are
this country’s small enough you don’t get lost
even in Christchurch you can climb a hill
and see the sea and
(Allan nods)
know, oh, yeah, that’s where I am!
aren’t we all looking for a place we won’t get lost?
where Tāne Mahuta will watch over us?
where mana doesn’t equal money
and the power and design
of an unfurling fern frond
is revered by everyone?
actually, no,
I suppose most Americans
aren’t missing these things
which makes them all the more
bittersweet to find
at the antipode to my existence
where I’ll never be home
Owen took this photo.
Weka with a Walking Stick
little tokoeka comes hobbling along the strand
planting his walking stick
in every likely bit of wrack
big clown feet marking up the beach
with dinosaur tread
tiny round bum barely balancing him out
and we’re all transfixed
our prayers answered
but this biggish bird just keeps going about
his jolly way
slowly becoming mammal
not realizing a whole people
have named themselves after him
